


How is This My Life

by RealisticDreamer



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Run Private School in New Zealand. They have American breaks, Bilbo Is Awesome, Bilbo is So Done, F/F, F/M, Hurt Bilbo, Just Bilbo all around, M/M, Rugby, Sassy Bilbo, Smaug is Bilbo's dog, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin starts as a douche, too many tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealisticDreamer/pseuds/RealisticDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The misadventures of Bilbo and Thorin's company as they navigate life at a private high school and Thorin's insane brooding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going to the Proms

Bilbo isn’t a very trusting or comfortable person. He likes to have things be a certain way almost all the time, and if he is to relax at all, he’ll have to be very tired, in his greenhouse near the edge of the Shire, or with someone that he has known for years. Thorin is none of those things. Well, technically, he matches the final requirement because they met in the kindergarten program of the American run private school they still attend, but being friends for a few months in kindergarten and then hardly speaking ten words to one another for the next eleven years isn’t normally what Bilbo has in mind when he thinks about if he knows or trusts someone. So, as Bilbo packs his hand-me-down simple black leather lined steamer trunk full of clothes and then puts some activities books in the knapsack he’s had since he was ten, he finds himself wondering just why he’s agreed to this. 

This being a trip to a month long music festival in London with Thorin as his one and only travel companion. Sure, they’ve been dating since May, but it’s only the middle of July and because Thorin or he have been busy often, they’ve only really been about ten dates.  
Bilbo lets out a shaky sigh as he looks out his bay window to the backyard of his aunt and uncle’s house where Primula, his adoptive sister, is playing with his dog, Smaug. He’s a black Great Dane with an odd golden patch of fur on his stomach. Well, at one point it was golden, now it’s almost entirely white and has expanded to reach up his neck to his white chin whiskers. He’s been around forever, longer than the hole in Bilbo’s heart left by the… _Fell Winter_ as Primula has taken to calling it. He shivers at the memory before returning to the task at hand. 

Thorin had insisted, _quite firmly_ , that he pay for everything. When your only source of income is doing odd jobs around the suburb you live in and the money from the trust your parents created, you can’t really afford to argue. Literally, you can’t. So, begrudgingly, Bilbo had accepted this term of the arrangement, and he has been stressing about it ever since. Bilbo hasn’t had to rely on anyone financially without worrying since…well, since the Fell Winter. 

Since Bilbo had agreed to allow Thorin to pay for everything, he supposed he would have to just not do anything too costly. If he bought enough gum before he left, he could just chew a piece when he got hungry and eat small inexpensive meals while they were in London. The realization that Bilbo will be more than a day away from Smaug and the greenhouse, the only two things that can make him feel wholly at ease, nags at Bilbo’s mind, not for the first time either. It’s been a huge factor in his choice, admittedly the largest, and he can’t help but feel unease at the prospect.

Bilbo doesn’t have much in the world he can’t live without, and he doesn’t have a very large number of friends for a reason. So he can pick up and move or he can lose something or someone without it breaking him. It’s something he learned in foster care before he came to live with the rest of his family in Middleton, New Zealand. The move from America to here hadn’t been that terrifying because nothing really made a big emotional impact, at the time. He’s never really tried to assimilate though, and he automatically translates everyone into speaking American English. He looks from Primula and Smaug to the edge of the suburbs where the roof of his mother’s childhood greenhouse is just barely visible. 

This will do him some good, allow him to put some distance between him and the things he holds closest to his heart. _It’s when you get comfortable that life tends to pull the rug out from under you, right?_ That’s what Bilbo’s been telling himself these last few weeks. His phone ringing interrupts his fretful thoughts. He fishes the phone out of his signature red hoodie answering without looking, “Hello,” he offers in his usual friendly tone. He’s always made an effort to not have a Phone Voice where you can be shouting and boiling over with rage, and then a moment later you sound chipper as though nothing is wrong. 

“Hey,” comes Bard’s raspy voice. His parents both smoke, and Bard picked up the habit five years ago when he was twelve, so now his voice is like rough silk, “It’s not too late to back out, you know.” 

Bilbo can’t help but roll his eyes at his friend as he sighs into the phone and begins checking that everything has been packed, “Look, he’s really not that bad,” Bard has despised Thorin, and vice versa, since Bilbo came back to Middleton and Thorin snubbed him. It wasn’t like Bilbo could entirely blame Thorin for not jumping at the chance to speak with him. They hadn’t seen each other since kindergarten when his parents moved to the States and Bilbo is entirely American now, seven years after the move back. 

Bard scoffs into the phone, “Not that bad…” he mutters something Bilbo chooses to pretend not to have heard before getting back to the reason he called, “Whatever. Thorin Wood Guard,” Bard’s own personal spin on Thorin’s nickname Oakenshield, “can be as ‘not that bad’ as he wants, but if he does _anything_ that is not above bar, you call me and I’ll be on the first flight out.”

Bilbo smiles at the promise-within-an-offer of help, but he knows that he probably won’t call Bard even if he’s being threatened with his life. Problems with Thorin, or in general, are why Bilbo has been squirreling away just enough money for a return ticket. It may have to be in coach where they’ll be flying to London in first class, but it’ll be a ticket nonetheless. Bilbo and Primula could hardly scrape together that much money for the emergency home ticket, he can’t imagine how Bard would afford a ticket to come save him, “I’ve got an emergency fund, Bard. I won’t need you to come and get stranded with me if I’m already on my way home.”

He can hear Bard’s smile through the phone, “Looks like Not-That-Bad Thorin Wood Guard isn’t so grand after all if you’ve already got your escape planned out,” he chuckles into the phone. Bilbo huffs with contempt for his friend’s distrust in Thorin, “So, is he really taking you to the Proms?”

Bilbo feels a tug at the corner of his lips, “Yep. We’re going to _every_ last one of them.” He can’t help the glee that snuck into his voice at the prospect of seeing all the shows the Proms has to offer. 

Bard groans on the other end of the line, “I almost feel bad for Wood Guard. Hours and hours of classical music for a month straight?” Bilbo can hear Bard as he shivers in disgust and makes a gagging sound.

Bilbo feels the anger come up from nowhere, “Save the gagging for Thranduil, Bard, I’m sure it’s much more enjoyable to him.”

He doesn’t know where that came from, and he immediately regrets it. He may not be on the best terms with Thranduil, as Thranduil and Thorin share a hatred unlike anything he’s ever seen before, but that doesn’t give Bilbo the right to say something like that, especially not to his best friend. He begins sputtering into the phone, “I-I didn’t, um, I didn’t mean….well, I meant…I don’t…I really,” Bilbo would continue to embarrass himself if Bard wasn’t laughing on the other end of the line.

“It’s taken us seven years to get to this point, but you have _finally_ snapped at me!” Bard sounds almost giddy with excitement at this development, “And it was even a quip about Thranduil.” Bilbo just knows there’s an oddly proud smirk on Bard’s lips, “I approve, Bilbo. I greatly approve. Look, I’ve got to go and tell Sigrid, Tilda, Bain,” Bard’s younger siblings, “Prim,” Bilbo’s sister, “and Thranduil what you just said!” Bilbo thinks that’ll be it, but Bard adds at the last moment, “Oh, and it’s cute that you think _I’m_ the one on my knees and gagging.” Did he just…Bilbo is pretty sure his face is on fire.

The line goes dead and Bilbo lowers the phone back into his pocket as he numbly triple checks his case and his pack. Bilbo _really_ doesn’t want to think about Thranduil…doing that, but he can’t get the mental image of Thranduil down on his knees out of his head. Thranduil, the real life version of Draco Malfoy, but much hotter, much wealthier, and much more competent behind his confidence and air of superiority, sucks off Bard. Bilbo’s fellow scholarship student who grew up in the projects and works at his family’s small but relatively successful auto shop. Bard, who is in a competition, of sorts, with Thranduil’s twin brother Legolas. Bard: Bilbo’s best friend. Bilbo shakes violently and hopes he never hears the words, Thradnuil and suck ever again, let alone in the same sentence. 

He hears Primula’s phone ring in the backyard, _Oh, no! He wasn’t kidding._ Bilbo walks to the window and watches as Primula listens intently; her face goes from curious to shocked to holding a smile that nearly splits her face in two as she lets out a barking laugh. That’s when Primula notices him and gives him a thumbs up, “How is this my life,” Bilbo mutters as he runs a hand through his honey colored curls that he has cut short into a buzz cut that he’s been growing out.


	2. Adventure is Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets nervous, Thorin thinks he's adorable. Bilbo does not approve of the term "adorable."

Bilbo’s knee is bouncing uncontrollably as the taxi makes its way to the airport in Matamata, the nearest town to Middleton. Thorin’s talking to Bilbo about The Company, something about how Dwalin has an unhealthy infatuation with Dis, and some other nonsense that Bilbo can’t focus on. He’s really doing this. He’s going to go to London. For a month. With no one but Thorin. And almost no money. This is to be his first adventure, his mother would tell him stories of her adventures often, while his father would read adventures to him from all sorts of books. And now here he is, having an adventure all on his own. _Oh, dear,_ Bilbo looks out the window, _I’m going to die. Something is going to happen, and I’m going to miss Smaug. I just know it. This was a mistake._

Thorin watches Bilbo as he prattles on, becoming increasingly aware of the knee that is shaking the cab. He smiles reassuringly as he places a large and calloused hand on Bilbo’s small knee, “Hey,” he says to get Bilbo’s attention, “Everything is going to be fine.”

Bilbo feels the nervousness leave him almost instantly when he sees the way Thorin’s smiling like Bilbo is the most adorable thing in the world, “Don’t even say it.”

Thorin asks innocently, “Whatever do you mean, Bilbo?”

Bilbo narrows his eyes at his boyfriend’s feigned ignorance, “You know precisely what I mean, Thorin.” Thorin rolls his eyes with a smile as he leans back against the seat, “And don’t even try to deny that you were going to say it. You had that dopey grin,” said grin is gracing his lips now, “and every time you do _that,_ ” he points accusingly at Thorin’s face, “that right there, it means you’re about to say,” he catches himself before he does exactly what Thorin wanted all along. “Oh, you probably think you are just _so_ clever.”

Thorin’s grin spreads into a smile that brightens his dark, magnificent eyes, “Oh, not _so_ clever,” using Bilbo’s nondescript words against him, “Just clever enough. You are so,” Bilbo’s face reddens as he thrusts his finger in Thorin’s face, “ _Don’t!_ Don’t you dare, Thorin Oakenshield Durin the third! Do not say it.” Thorin draws his eyebrows together as the finger keeps wagging in his face. 

He quickly sucks it into his mouth causing Bilbo to snatch his hand away with a disgusted shiver. “ _EW!_ ” Bilbo shrieks in a shrill voice that he quickly deepens back to its normal register, “Oh! Oh, that is just…” he wipes his defiled finger on the seat in front of him so as to not get any of the, admittedly little, saliva on his clothes. He bites out the last word, “ _Foul!_ ”

Thorin is laughing like a fool, he even slaps his knee with a resounding clap startling the taxi driver enough that he stops hastily to look back at the pair as Bilbo flies forward before getting jerked to a halt by the seat belt. He rubs his chest where the seat belt had surely left an impression. The driver decides to simply leave the pair as they are and drives on in silence. Thorin is sniggering behind his paw of a hand as Bilbo sits back in his seat tightening his seat belt a bit so that won’t happen again, “Seriously, that was so disgusting,” he adds with a shudder, “I felt your uvula.”

Thorin smirks, “You’re adorable.”

Bilbo looks betrayed at first, then he settles into a pouting scowl as he turns to the window, pointedly ignoring Thorin as he crosses his arms. He mumbles, “I am not adorable.”

Thorin chuckles as he leans forward putting a hand to his ear, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Bilbo rolls his eyes pointedly glaring at Thorin in the reflection on the window. Thorin smiles again, “When you pout, you are so,” Bilbo snaps around punching his arm lightly, “ _I am most certainly not adorable,_” he puts the offending word in air quotes, “And if you say I’m adorable one more time, I’ll,” he draws a blank as to what to threaten Thorin with. He chews on his lips momentarily before seeing that foolish grin return. He stops and files lip chewing under the very extensive category of things Not to Do Around Thorin, “You don’t want to know what I’ll do.”

Thorin sniggers some more before Bilbo smacks his arm lightly, “Stop. Seriously,” the small smile he can’t stop from spreading undermines his words, “Come on. Tell me about the hotel we’re staying at. It’s nothing too fancy right? I’m not gonna get thrown out for wearing jeans or anything?”

The cab comes to a stop in front of the airport and Thorin pays the driver while Bilbo gets his trunk and backpack from the back. He sighs at Thorin’s three suitcases. They’re fine Italian leather, clearly not hand-me-downs like Bilbo’s steamer trunk with its worn corners and tarnished metal. He shakes it off as he gets the cases out, one in each hand. He looks from the final case to the wet road and then back. Torn between risking dirtying the pristine case and struggling with three suitcases, he eventually places one on the steamer case and holds the other two waiting for Thorin to come around.

He smiles at Bilbo as he takes the two suitcases with one hand and grabs the steamer trunk with the other. _Thank goodness for the wheels._ Bilbo stares in amazement as Thorin easily carries/drags all of it. Feeling absolutely useless, and a bit humiliated that he would’ve struggled with the steamer alone, he rushes up behind Thorin snatching up the suitcase from the steamer. “So the hotel?”

Thorin’s face lights up as he begins describing it, “Claridge’s is a five star hotel on Brook Street,” realizing that Bilbo doesn’t know where that was, Thorin clarifies, “near the Oxford Street shops and the Bond Street tube station.” Bilbo nods as though he knows what he’s talking about, and he stomps down the little part of him that sounds an awful lot like Bard telling him, _You’ll never fit in his world, and he’ll never be able to grasp that you don’t._ When Bard had said that to him, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d thought that Bard was just expanding his cynical streak, but now he couldn’t help but put some stock in the harsh words. He grasped at the flimsy straw that was Bard and Thranduil’s relationship. Bard comes from less money than Bilbo, and Bard and Thranduil seem happy. Well, Bard is definitely happy, and Thranduil seems to be as close to happy as Bilbo has ever seen him. But Bard is below the poverty where Thranduil could buy fifteen condo complexes and not even take a dent in his budget. They’re so different, that there’s no room for the grey. There’s no room for Thranduil and Bard to get confused about their boundaries. Thranduil never has to do a double take and hurry to explain what he means after having presumed that Bard would know what he was talking about. Bard never had to ask for clarification, it was freely given.

Bilbo walks after Thorin catching the important things. It’s near the tube, he won’t be thrown out for wearing jeans and a hoodie (but he’ll probably get some odd looks), and they’ll be staying in a suite. Bilbo had wondered about their rooming situation, but hadn’t felt brave enough to ask so it was a relief when Thorin brought up the suite. The two pass through airport security in impressive time, in Bilbo’s opinion, but Thorin seems to think that it took longer than it should have because he’d forgotten to move a letter opener that is _way_ too large to be functional. It’s from a really nerdy movie, so Bilbo loved that. 

Bilbo loves New Zealand’s TSA. It’s so much better than America’s was. Bilbo smiles at Thorin as they move on in the process of boarding, “So,” he begins loving Thorin’s burning cheeks, “it was just okay? ‘Cause, I mean, I don’t buy movie swag unless I really like it, and you read the book.”

Thorin rolls his eyes without saying anything. _Because there’s nothing he can actually say to argue the point. He's been caught red-handed,_ Bilbo thinks to himself with a smug smile. He pinches Thorin’s cheek, “You are so adorable.”

Thorin gruffs at the statement as he bats away Bilbo’s hand, “Am not.”

Bilbo’s smile turns wicked, “Oh, can Baby not take what he dishes out?”

Thorin snorts, “I can take it.”

Bilbo bites back a smile, “You wanna rephrase that?” Thorin’s face turns beat red. _He’s probably realizing how that could have been taken. Get it? Who am I thinking to? Bard would have laughed. Maybe. Okay, so Prim would have._ I leave him standing there with a cackle and head off in the direction of the boarding gate. Bilbo smiles broadly as he gives his boarding pass over to the woman with the kind smile, he loves flying. It’s an adventure in and of itself.


	3. Unexpected Disasterfulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter where the tag about Thorin being a douche comes in. London and the friends Thorin are my equivalent to the Dragon Sickness Thorin got in Erebor.

Their first day in London had been spectacular. Thorin and Bilbo had checked into the hotel, which took Bilbo’s breath away with the beauty of its architecture and decor, before heading up to their suite. Once there, they ordered popcorn, mints (they’re the closest things to minties the hotel had to offer), pineapple and melted chocolate so they could make their own Pineapple Lumps, chocolate chip cookies, strawberry shoelaces (Bilbo thought they weren’t so different from Twizzlers), and something called Fox’s Party Rings. Bilbo figured they were like Life Savers back in the States, but, oh, he was so very wrong, and delightedly so. They were, in actuality, these amazing biscuit rings with frosting. Once their lollies, it is one of the only words Bilbo has adopted because he likes it better than sweets or treats, had arrived, they sat on the couch, Bilbo resting only a few inches away from Thorin, and binged _Arrow_ on Netflix.

The next day, they got dressed, did some non-tourist-y site seeing, essentially wandering around if you asked Thorin, and then they went to Proms. This continued for a few days, but it wasn’t long before Thorin began falling asleep during the later shows, eventually nodding off in the first performance of the day. Since that didn’t sit well with Bilbo, Thorin had said Bilbo could go to Proms and Thorin would meet him afterwards and they could keep exploring London. This arrangement worked for a couple of days before Thorin began showing up later and later to walk with Bilbo. Thorin had apparently made some new friends the first day he had left Bilbo, and they kept taking him to pubs, clubs, and their typical hangouts. Bilbo had been… _upset_ by the brush offs at first, but he supposed he could understand that Thorin would want to make friends. Bilbo himself had made a few friends to watch the Proms with and talk with afterwards. What he couldn’t understand is how a trip Thorin had insisted they both take to spend time together turned into a very unpleasant version of Bilbo’s dream. Despite being reluctant to agree at first, Bilbo had been dreaming of the Proms for months now. He’d figured Thorin would be bored of the performances, and he’d even planned to skip performances so they could do things that Thorin would like, but he had never imagined this.

This being him lying on the floor of the suite with his activity books strewn about and almost all of them completed. He sighs as he finishes the last maze to a book he’d picked out in the airport gift shop. _That was the last one,_ he thinks wistfully to himself as he unenthusiastically throws it over his shoulder. It lands on his back before sliding off to the side. He lets out a contemptful sigh of boredom and frustration as he rolls over flattening the book beneath him. He allows it to dig into his back as he folds his hands over his chest and twiddles his thumbs thinking to himself, _This is absolute disasterfulness._ It is a made up word that Prim came thought up when she was six and Bilbo had picked it up rather quickly after being adopted by the Brandybucks, they were friends of his parents’. Prim had defined it as a descriptive word used only for the worst of situations that were “Disasters filled to the brim with positively dreadful unpleasantness.” Indeed, this trip is turning out be quite full of disasterfulness, and it only becomes worse when Thorin finally arrives.

Bilbo doesn’t bother sitting up, in fact, he pretends to be asleep when he hears the door open. Thorin makes a shushing sound to someone before giggling quite loudly, _Great, he’s drunk,_ Bilbo scornfully spits out in his head. He drowsily turns over as he knows he does quite often in his sleep. There’s a pause in the footsteps in front of him before Thorin, behind him, reassures, “He does that a lot.”

The footsteps in front of him come closer, then a girl’s voice states, “Aw, he’s so adorable.” Bilbo fights not to tense his jaw and keep his face in the relaxed mask that he has perfected over the years, his parents would only talk about their money troubles after he’d gone to bed. Only Thorin can call him adorable. _What? When did I become alright with Thorin calling me adorable?_ When he thinks on it, he finds he actually quite misses the term. Thorin hasn’t spoken more than a goodbye or hello to him since he began hanging out with his friends, let alone teased him and called him adorable. 

Thorin stops rummaging for whatever he’s looking for to say, “Not that he would ever let you call him that,” and Bilbo can’t help but note the almost bitter undertone to the words. He flops over on his back, one hand on his chest and the other still on the floor beside him, the girl teases in a sing song voice, “Someone’s pouting.” She goes into a fit of giggles that reminds him of Prim and his chest hurts a little. He hates missing people. It’s why he’s been pointedly not thinking of Middleton or the Shire, the peaceful little suburb he lives in.

Thorin grunts, “You would too if your boyfriend hated when you complimented him, refused to let you touch him, and completely ignored you when you suffered through performances at the Proms for him.” Bilbo wants so badly to shoot up, stomp over to Thorin, and just shake him until he was blue in the face. Bilbo, not Thorin. Then he would promptly explain that he didn’t like being called adorable because it is what his mother used to describe him as before...well, just _before_ and that he has never liked touching, but especially since he had gone to sleep one night during the Fell Winter and woke up to find my mother’s arms stiff around me from rigor mortis. Then Bilbo would shout at him that he wasn’t ignoring Thorin during the show, it’s just that when Bilbo tried to talk to him about the performances, Thorin would be either lost or disinterested. _And speaking of ignoring! Who is it that’s been running around town at all hours of the day and night and UGH!_

But Bilbo doesn’t do that. He merely allows his head to fall to the side of the room where Thorin is still looking for something. If he were to wake up now, he would be busted for eavesdropping and just make things worse between them. He’d just have to see about going out with Thorin and his friends tomorrow, and he can try to get over the adorable thing. The touching is still meh, but it’s not like Bilbo can do much about that. Prim still hasn’t even high fived him. The girl moves around Bilbo, “If he’s such an awful boyfriend, why not just break up with him?” Bilbo would take offense if it weren’t for the fact that she’s using the same tone he uses when he asks that of Bard about Thranduil. It’s not as though she’s suggesting it, she’s challenging the idea. Bilbo patiently awaits Thorin telling her the same thing Bard tells him, _Because, he’s not a bad boyfriend! He’s just...eccentric at times, and it frustrates me, but that’s what I like about him._ Bilbo waits...and waits, before realising that defensive reply isn’t coming. Instead, Thorin just mutters, “Come on. I got the money, now let’s just get back to the club.”

Bilbo’s numb as they head out of the suite. He’s numb as he keeps his eyes closed and thinks about what just happened. Thorin just all but said he was planning on dumping him, he’s probably waiting until they’re back in Middleton, and just said he got the money. Thorin brought a few rolls of ten thousand pounds with him, and he kept them on his person _at all times_. He is paranoid about break-ins, but he isn’t too worried about muggings. It’s always confused Bilbo, but he just accepted it. Because that’s what boyfriends do. They accept each other, weird tendencies and all. What they do _not_ do is steal money from each other. Bilbo makes his way over to his open steamer trunk and wonders why he didn’t hear Thorin get it from his room or when he opened it. He wonders why Thorin would even feel the need to steal. It’s not like Thorin could have blown _all_ of his money on drinks and getting into clubs. Maybe he didn’t take Bilbo’s money. Bilbo thinks bitterly as he pulls out the hoodie that was in charge of housing his money and his father’s family’s necklace. He jams his hand into the pocket to find it devoid of the pounds he had left in there. He sighs as he feels around for the necklace, looking at it always seemed to allow him to think like his parents. He fishes around for it for a few seconds but can’t find it. _No! That’s not possible._ He feels the pocket from the outside to make sure he didn’t just miss it, but there’s nothing in it.

He frantically searches the other pocket before throwing the hoodie to the ground. He goes through every article of clothing in the trunk before turning the trunk over to see if it had fallen out. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. No. No. This is not happening. No. It can’t be!_ He throws the trunk across the suite causing it to crash into the counter shouting for the first time since he was a child, “ _NO!_ ” He collapses to the floor folding over on himself, he breathes out weakly, “No.” He wraps his arms around himself as he falls over onto his side. He wants to cry, but he can’t. He hasn’t been able to cry in seven years. It’s not that he’s never felt sad, it’s just that he’s never felt the compulsion to cry. Until now. He shakes his head, _You’re not going to cry over him._

He pushes himself up off the ground, pulls his phone out of his jeans, and dials Prim’s number. He’s breathing heavily when she first picks up and calms down as she exclaims, “What’s going on?!”

He pinches his nose to calm himself down and organize his thoughts so they’re not all about killing Thorin. “I need to go home.”

He’s not shocked when Prim demands, “What is going on?”

He sighs, “I just need to go home.”

“One sec,” Bilbo runs a hand through his hair as he heads over to a shirt and tosses it onto the bed to start a pile going, “I’m talking to Bilbo. Something’s wrong. No, you are not going to kill him, Bard.” Bilbo chuckles into the phone as he picks up another article of clothing, “Tell him to make sure it’s painful, Prim.” She’s quiet for a second, “Oh. Okay,” to Bard, “He said to go ahead and make it painful.” He can hear Bard let off a litany of curses as something breaks and Prim shouts, “Not in the house, you don’t! If you’re going to be hitting something, go outside!” To Bilbo she says in much calmer and quieter voice, “Anyway, I’m booking the tickets now. Two there and three on return," she sighs heavily, "Yes, that means you’re going, now shut up." She goes back to talking to Bilbo, "You’ll tell me about it when you're ready, right?” 

He sets the phone down putting it on speaker as he goes to retrieve the trunk, “Yeah, I’ll let you know. See you when you get here.” He heads back to the phone and hangs up before she can say anything else. He then starts moving the pile of clothes into the trunk and sets it on the floor once it is fully packed. “Looks like Bard was right after all,” he mutters to himself as he sets the locks on the door and puts a chair under the doorknob. “If he likes his friends so much, he can see if one of them will put up with his thieving ass.” Bilbo doesn’t notice that it’s the first time he’s sworn, he doesn’t really care. He walks to the window and pulls back the curtain to watch London and the people who live in it. Somebody out there has to be having a worse day than he is, and he feels for that person. It’s what his mother trained him to do from the time he was a kid. _If you’re having a bad day, look out at the world, and just think about the fact that someone else out there has it worse than you do. It’s something to take solace in, but also something to keep you grounded._ He rests his head against the window as he asks miserably, “How is this my life?”


	4. A Lousy Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. -Sir Isaac Newton's Third Law of Physics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I came up with this AU on a whim and shared it with my friend Lady_Eowyn, and together we both decided to run with it in very different ways. Her series is set in the fifties where mine is modern, and in later chapters there will be some characters crossing over in my fic. There are constants in both fics as they're both in the same Universe. You should definitely check out her fic: Blue Smoke.

Bilbo is still watching London go on, still looking out for the people who have it worse than him and hoping that the good vibes he always dismissed are real and that those people are getting the ones he is sending out. He checks his phone for calls or texts, but there’s no new messages, not that he was _really_ looking, he just wanted an excuse to see Smaug on his lock screen. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he heads to the front door of the suite where the chair is still under the handle. He’d heard someone try the door and knock several hours ago, but he figured it was just housekeeping. 

Bilbo figures Thorin will should be arriving to the suite in a couple hours, and he has to admit, there’s a part of him that wants to see what he would do if Bilbo moved the chair and he got in. Would he pretend like he hadn’t been in, that Bilbo lost the money and necklace? But that part of him was eclipsed by the hurt child inside of him. The child who had been stupid enough to trust that someone could care for him, that he could finally trust someone. That someone would choose him. He hates that part of him most of the time, but now he’s just disgusted by it. The chair will stay where it is.

Bilbo turns back to the city to watch it, but there’s something different about it now. Something almost hopeless about the disconnect between its citizens, not that it’s anything close to being how apathetic New York was. In that city, he’d lost both of his parents and the world kept going. There had been no obituaries for them, no one to attend the funeral aside from him and his social worker, the Burkes hadn’t even known that the little kids they helped raise were dead until they called for Bilbo’s birthday and were eventually made aware of his situation. He hit the window. Not hard enough to really accomplish anything, just to lightly run a nail over an itch he’s been dying to scratch. 

The door unlocks and he can hear Thorin’s voice on the other side of the door. There’s no movement at the door for just long enough for Bilbo to move on auto pilot and rush silently over to the chair. He moves the chair back to its original place as Thorin keeps talking on the phone with someone from the Company, and Bilbo undoes the secondary lock, all without making a sound. He then makes a mad dash for his room setting the trunk on the floor where it is normally kept, he changes shirts quickly, rubs on some deodorant, and kicks off his shoes. He hears Thorin call, “Bilbo?” The call must be done. Bilbo grabs his headphones plugging them into his phone and selecting his favorite song, but keeps it on pause so he can hear what Thorin is doing. When Thorin makes a beeline for Bilbo’s room, he turns around, presses play, and begins to pace putting a nice little energetic bounce in his step. He doesn’t hear when the door opens because his music is so loud, and he has to bite his lip to keep from spinning around early just to see Thorin’s face when he sees that Bilbo doesn’t know about the necklace. That fucking necklace. The money, Bilbo couldn’t care less about. It was money, it wasn’t irreplaceable. He’d just be riding home with Bard and Prim, but the _necklace?_

Bilbo forces a smile as he started mouthing the words just before he turns. He makes a point to jump the way he always does when someone sneaks up on him before pausing the music. If this were anyone else, Bilbo would still have one headphone in with the music turned down low, but he always made a point to completely stop the music for Thorin. He hates the silence, even if it’s momentary, it’s what unnerves him the most about how close he’d let Thorin get. His mother would be happy about it, even with the way it had ended. It meant that what he’d felt was real. His father though, he would be far more sympathetic to the pain of the situation. Bilbo starts, “Hey, I didn’t,” Thorin nods pointing at the headphones as Bilbo tucks them away, “Hear me. Yeah.”

Bilbo studies his face intently knowing that Thorin won’t get suspicious because Bilbo has a habit of staring at people’s faces finding the beauty in them. He sees Thorin’s regal cheeks and jaw, his high hairline that would be unflattering on most but works to Thorin’s advantage somehow. He looks hungover, which is how he’s looked for the majority of the time they’ve been here, but he also looks worried. Bilbo hates the silence that’s fallen over them so he asks as he normally would, “What’s wrong,” he accentuates the question with a few concerned steps toward Thorin. 

Thorin swallows audibly, he crosses his arms over his well-muscled chest that Bilbo never got to see, and Bilbo can’t help but wonder why he cares. He’s never been interested in sex, and he still isn’t, but there had always been a sense of mystery to Thorin that made him want to know everything about him. “I,” Thorin takes a deep breath as he begins pacing shortly making sure that he ends in front of the door every other second, “I’m sorry.” 

Bilbo doesn’t have to fake the shock in his voice and confused draw of his brows, “For what?” _Promising a good bonding experience and then abandoning me in a strange city in a strange country? Being hungover when you come back? Planning on dumping me? Stealing my emergency fund? Stealing an heirloom of my father’s family that was worth nearly one hundred thousand American dollars that neither of my parents were willing to part with when we were starving for months on the streets of New York because of what it meant to them and is the only thing I have-no- had left of them?_

Thorin sighs scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I-I messed up,” _Which time?_ “And I am so incredibly sorry. I was drunk, and...I’m just so, _so_ sorry.”

Bilbo takes closes the distance between them, for the most part, so they’re now a foot apart, “What did you do?” Bilbo whispers quietly, not really wanting to have it confirmed that the necklace had been pawned off.

Thorin has clearly been working himself up over this, his face unrecognizable as panic makes its presence known all across his typically stoic features, “I...I kissed someone last night.” It comes out in a hurried breath, and Bilbo goes numb like he did when he heard that Thorin didn’t know why he didn’t just break up with Bilbo. “I swear, it didn’t mean anything. It’s just, I was drunk and upset, and she was right there,” Bilbo snaps his eyes up to Thorin’s.

Bilbo struggles to keep his voice down as he cuts through Thorin’s apology, “You kissed her? The girl with pink hair?” the one he had seen Thorin with a few times, the one who had been in the room last night. Thorin swallows again, this time it gets takes a little longer for his Adam’s Apple to bob. Bilbo lets out a shaky breath as he takes a step back, “I don’t care.” Thorin would be overjoyed, a little confused but nonetheless overjoyed, at the declaration of apathy if it weren’t for how eerily calm Bilbo sounds. Bilbo shakes his head with a small venomous smile working its way onto his normally sweet and innocent face, “I couldn’t care less.” Thorin reaches out to touch Bilbo’s arm as he turns to walk away, and Bilbo jerks away as though he’s been struck. He hisses out, “ _Don’t!_ ” He shakes his head softly as his body becomes less tense, he repeats softly, “Don’t.” Bilbo then walks over to the trunk and he calmly opens it, “You know, I found the funniest thing this morning.” Thorin’s stomach drops, his heart clenching in his chest. Had he really been so out of it that he hadn’t just thought about stealing the money, but had actually done it? Now, in the harsh light of sober day, Thorin couldn’t even begin to fathom how the idea had come to him, let alone seemed so appealing that he would actually do it.

“Bilbo,” he breathes out. Bilbo gives a self deprecating smile from where he sits before his chest, “You know, I knew this would happen. I mean, not this, and I didn’t actually know it would happen, but I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that things were too good.” He looks up Thorin, the smile still there, but the hurt in his eyes is far more honest, “Everything about this was too good. I mean...here I was, some stupid orphan kid from Middleton who grew up traveling all over America before moving back, thinking that everything was fine.” He considers for a moment while Thorin watches him unmoving and taking shallow breaths, “Well...not fine. Things were great, at first, but then when I was going to suggest skipping some shows and doing what you wanted, you jumped at the chance to get away. I guess that should have been my frist clue, huh? Even when we were at our best, I was driving you away.” Thorin’s heart breaks as he realizes that Bilbo’s angry at him, sure, but he’s not blaming Thorin. He’s blaming himself, “But...I-I just don’t think, even factoring in the lack of communication, the no touching, and my hating being called adorable, that I was so awful that you would do this to me.”

Thorin takes a step toward him, “Bilbo, when I woke up, I thought the money had been a dream, that it was some ill conceived plan I’d made up, I didn’t think I’d actually stolen it.” Bilbo looks up hopeful that this means the necklace isn’t lost, “I can pay you back,” Bilbo jumps up slamming the lid of the trunk and shouting, “Don’t you _dare_ think that your money can get you out of this! I don’t give a damn about the money, I want my father’s necklace back!”

Thorin is in shock at the rage, the swearing, and the fact that he can actually yell, but mostly, he’s shocked that Bilbo thinks he would take the necklace. Even when he was drunk and had thought of taking the money, the necklace had never crossed his mind, “I would _never,_ ” Bilbo lets out a biting laugh, “Steal from me? I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Bilbo’s words cut deeply, they’ll sting for months, maybe years, after this day, but Thorin can’t deny that they’re warranted, “I wouldn’t take the necklace. You always have it with you, are you sure you didn’t lose it or,” Bilbo seethes at the very suggestion so Thorin backtracks, “I didn’t take the necklace, Bilbo.”

As hurt and angry as Bilbo is, he can still see the truth in Thorin’s eyes as he denies taking the necklace. Horror quickly overcomes rage in Bilbo’s mind as he realizes that the necklace was tucked into the money. Thorin may not have meant to take the necklace, but he most certainly had, and now there was no way to get it back. Thorin connects the pieces just after Bilbo does, “I didn’t know.” It’s all he can think to say despite knowing that it is far from being close to adequate.

Bilbo snarls at him, “You think I give a shit whether you knew?!” He starts crowding into Thorin’s space, and regardless of the fact that Thorin is 6’2" where Bilbo is 5’8", there’s no denying the very real threat that Bilbo poses now, “You _gave away_ the only thing I had of my parents in this world, not even a fucking picture of them is still around, and you think I care whether you knew it was tucked into the money you stole from me when you thought I was asleep?!”

Bilbo’s not sure how they got there, but they’re close to the door, “I don’t even know why you bothered to waste your breath apologizing to me for kissing that girl! You didn’t even know why you were still with me less than twenty four hours ago. We were over the first day you ditched me at the Proms to hang out with strangers, I don’t know why I bothered to come up with excuses for you to defend you to myself. I was just lying to myself. I’ll be gone by the time you get back today, now why don’t you go run along with your friends and drunk again.” He opens the door for Thorin, “You seem to be good at that.” Thorin doesn’t move at first so Bilbo rolls his eyes, “Either you go or I do.”

Thorin walks through the door, but he turns to Bilbo, “Bil-” Bilbo closes the door in his face, locks the door, and then walks over to the fridge where he pulls out the bottle of vodka. He absently thinks back to alcoholism being genetic and that vodka is a bad first drink, but he can’t bring himself to care as he takes his first swig of alcohol. It burns on the way down and he coughs most of it back up, so he throws the bottle at the door and lets himself.

It feels like a small eternity before there’s a knock at the door. He stops crying within a couple of seconds. Another knock comes, this one shorter and more urgent, but still soft. He wipes his face, blinks a few times, then goes over to the door just as Bard begins pounding on the door. He turns the doorknob and the door is instantly flying open, Prim dashing forward for a hug, but she stops herself. She looks at him with a frown before rubbing his arm lightly for a second or two before lowering it, “I'm sorry.” Bard comes over offering a small playful smirk, “He's an ass; besides, I’m sure he would have been a lousy fuck.” Prim smacks his chest, but they’re all laughing softly. Bilbo pulls them both into a one armed hug that is far quicker than Prim rubbing his arm had been.


	5. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much of an aftermath of the Proms as you're going to be getting. For now. Obvs since this is Bagginshield, they gotta talk eventually, that will be the rest of the fallout. Also, SMAUG HAS A TREASURE HORDE!   
> PS- Ori is gender bent in this. I realize I probably should have done an indie tag about this in characters, but I came up with the character tags at like six the morning I posted this without having gotten any sleep in the two days leading up to it so I wasn't feeling writing out the Company. I did, however, put modified Company. Also, there are multiple Ori's and Dwalin's, so for the sake of everyone keeping who's who in order, they will be referred to mostly as Mr. and Mrs. Suit. It's explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was some delay between chapters three and four, I had to consult on something with Lady_Eowyn. Hopefully this makes up for it. Since it's 12:00 almost straight up, I'm gonna technically fudge this and say that this was posted at least ten minutes ago on the sixth. Expect chapter six by tonight, the seventh.   
> PS- Smaug is old as heck but still relatively healthy. This dog defies nature and all logic. He will continue to do so throughout the fic because he's Smaug, so obviously there's got to be some riddles going on, which means more nature and logic defying to come.

“Today is a good day,” Bilbo says brightly as he kicks a pebble further up the road. It crashes into a small bundle of leaves since the seasons have already begun to change. School starts tomorrow. It’s been nearly two months since he broke up with Thorin.

“Prim’s taking me last minute school shopping today. She says I need to change my look,” Bilbo looks down at his worn red jacket he’s owned since freshman year, it’s over a plain white tee shirt and he’s got a pair of jean shorts on, “I can’t say I disagree with her, but I’m not going to change my wardrobe to prove a point. That I’m no longer the same person.” He rolls his eyes as he repeats Prim’s words, “Because I am still Bilbo Baggins. I’m still me. Thorin didn’t change that, and neither did his actions.”

His bare feet sink down into the dirt beneath the cool morning grass as he crosses a cleanly cut field, “Bard gave me a new string of leather to add to the collection,” he glances down at the multitude of strips of leather that cover his left wrist, “It’s black.” They’re all black. Some have a small metal bead on them, others are simply plain black strings tied around his wrist. There are few thicker bands, they were the early ones, when they were meant to conceal rather than count. He scratches Smaug on the head, right between his ears. 

“Anyway, I was just letting you know that I’m fine, but if the Bagginses are to be believed, you already know that. Just in case the Tooks are right, though, and I’m talking to a voicemail machine for no reason other than to hear myself talk and feed the delusion that you’re actually listening to this, I figured I’d let you know.” Bilbo smiles as he gets the keys from his shorts and inserts them into the lock of the old glass door, “I love you, Father.”

He lets the door swing open, “Hey, Ma,” he whispers to the greenhouse, “How ya been?” He locks the door after Smaug walks in, his large paws clicking on the floor, “Hope you don’t mind I brought Smaug, I remember you always said a garden was no place for a dog,” Smaug looks over at him with his head cocked, “But I also remember how much you loved playing with him when no one was looking.” His family had gotten Smaug just after Bilbo was born. His mother had been livid at the idea of having to take care of two infants as well as the thought that Bilbo would have to say goodbye to Smaug some day. Almost eighteen years later, and that day still hasn’t come. 

Bilbo watches as Smaug leisurely makes his way between the planting stations and to the small room in the back where Bilbo keeps a stash of dog food, water, and the gardening tools. He knows it won’t be long now. Smaug’s not gone blind or deaf like most dogs his age, but he’s become slow and calm, something that only just developed a few years ago. He’s been putting up one heck of a fight, but nothing and no one can live forever. He follows his trusty companion to the back room where he is already lounging in front of the small lock box that holds all of the things Bilbo’s ever carried in his heart. 

In that chest lies all his movie ticket stubs, a few pictures of him and Prim, Mr. and Mrs. Burke, (or Suit as he’s taken to calling them after having found White Collar on Netflix), and one of Bard. There’s ten dedicated solely to him and Smaug. There’s also a flattened penny with a vivid and detailed impression of a monkey on it he got when he went to a zoo when he lived in Michigan. A folded and yellowed note that he’s not touched since he put it in that box seven years ago now. There’s a jar meant for candles or something of the lick that has a few coins and rocks he’s found over the years, a sudoku book with a note from Mrs. Suit in it, a Scar Pop Doll Bard got him for christmas, a little string voodoo doll with a small black body and large orange head he got from a quarter machine at a bowling alley he, Prim, and Bard went to for his birthday, and a button Prim got him. They’re kind of her thing. The latest addition was Bilbo’s growing collection of Smaug’s dog tags. He’s always losing them.

Smaug looks up questioningly when Bilbo draws close the “treasure trove,” but relaxes when Bilbo retrieves his gardening tools. Bilbo spends a few hours talking to his mom, catching her up on the last six months. He starts with how Thorin and he met again and started dating, their relationship, all the while working his way up to the Proms. He tells her everything, but he can’t help the guilt that comes from telling her about how he let himself be blind. She wouldn’t care about any bit of it other than the fact that he let himself care, and she’d be so proud. He tries to focus on that thought.

His phone goes off signalling that it’s noon, which means he has a half hour before Prim hunts him down like a dog and drags him to the mall. He puts all his tools back, whistles for Smaug to join him at the exit, then locks up. He runs with Smaug staying at his side the entire time, albeit he’s panting heavily by the time they get to the other side of the Shire and they burst into the front door of Bag End. It’s a homely mansion of sorts, definitely older than anyone still in the Shire, and the residence of the Suits. Ori, the kind woman who grew up with his grandmother and took Prim and he in when both of their parents died, is sitting in her favorite spot on the couch. She’s bent over tying her shoes, judging by her clothes, she’s probably on her way out to play cricket with her friends. 

They don’t say anything to each other as he heads up stairs, Smaug’s panting bouncing through the halls is enough to fill the silence so Bilbo doesn’t have his music in, not that Mrs. Suit knows that. Dwalin, Mr. Suit, is standing at the top of the stairs waiting for him, “Bilbo, can I have a word with you?”

Bilbo nods silently as he follows Dwalin into his own room, “What’s up?”

Mr. Suit sighs, “Are you all right?”

Bilbo’s caught off guard by the question, “What do you mean?”

Mr. Suit rubs his hand over his face trailing it over his grey stubble, he used to wear it in a beard, but once it went grey, he started keeping it closely cut, “I mean, I know that you must have cared for Thorin a great deal to go to the Proms with him, and I’ve seen firsthand what heartbreak can do to a person.” 

Bilbo tries not to let the reference to his mother’s suicide and Prim’s father’s drug addiction and subsequent prison sentence sting too much. He knows he wasn’t comparing him to them, he was just trying to get a feel for how Bilbo is. “And don’t just shrug it off and tell me you’re fine. You’ve been saying that with that damned smile of yours since the end of July when you came home early.”

Bilbo remains silent as Mr. Suit folds his arms in front of his chest the way he does when he is set in his way about something, “I didn’t think it was right to let you go on pretending when you got home, but I promised Ori that I wouldn’t bother you about it. But it’s been long enough. You’re about to start back at Ered Luin, which means you’ll have to see him, and if he did _anything_ ,” Mr. Suit’s face is contorted with rage at the very thought of whatever had driven Bilbo home early. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten with Bilbo like Ori’s been telling him to do for years, “I just want to know if I’m going to have to kill the son of my god-son.”

Bilbo doesn’t need Dwalin’s set jaw or terrifying gaze to know the old man is being serious. Bilbo has absolutely no doubt that his dad would do that for him or Prim. He may be an old man, but he’s an old man that would go against the entire Durin line, even his best friend Thorin the second and his wife Bilba if it meant getting to Bilbo’s Thorin. And that’s without knowing what happened. Bilbo’s been afraid to tell his mom and dad what happened because of that very reason. “Please, D-” he catches himself, “Dwalin, it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I’ll have Prim and Bard, and by extension Thranduil, Thranduil’s siter, Tauriel, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn to stick up for me.”

Mr. Suit narrows his eyes with a huff muttering, “Still doesn’t sound like nearly enough,” before he softens, “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, you know you can tell Ori and I anything, right?” Bilbo nods, “Good, good.” He walks to the door stopping with a solemn glance over his shoulder, “Just tell me one thing...did he,” Bilbo sees the hurt in Dwalin’s eyes at the very thought of Bilbo having been hurt in that way. Bilbo shakes his head, “No, it wasn’t anything like that.”

Mr. Suit nods clearing his throat, “Right then. I should let you change and get ready for your day out with Primula.” He walks away purposefully, Bilbo smiles sadly when he sees a hand discreetly shoot up to Dw-Mr. Suit’s-eyes.

Bilbo thinks about what Mr. Suit said as he changes hastily to avoid the wrath of Prim. He hasn’t been fine. Not really. He just doesn’t think about what happened or how he felt. He’s been forcing the memories and their emotions down and telling himself that Thorin means nothing to him. Not that he hates Thorin, or that he shouldn’t love Thorin, just that he’s nothing to him. He’s been saying it enough in his head and whispering it out loud that he could pass a polygraph. He tried. But he’s not fine, he’s stuck. He’ll be fine once he accepts the loss, but for now, the loss of Thorin is like the loss of his parents. It’s just something he doesn’t dwell on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old man Dwalin is adorable with his protectiveness. He's been over protective forever. Find out how Ori and he got together in Blue Smoke.


	6. Tis but a Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prim and Bilbo go clothes shopping. Tauriel is awesome. She Who Shall Not Be Named is the queen of all evil and at the top of Prim's shit list. Seriously, in any fic she has ever been in, emotional fire and ruin follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smaug's internal clock is more accurate than an atomic clock. Bilbo is an innocent little babe.

Primula Nori Brandybuck-Burke is not someone most people consider cool. She wears chino pants of varying colors, decorates them with buttons and sketches in sharpie (not that she’s good at sketching), and she almost always has on a tank top with a band logo from the sixties. She wears her light red curls in a high ponytail that reaches her shoulders, and her glasses are much too blocky for her round pixie face. Also, she can still pass for a young boy if she wears a sports bra, not that she needs one too badly, if you catch the drift. She was born premature and has always had a small body, not that she’s let that stop her from anything. 

She has perfect teeth thanks to a brutal oral health care regiment, was the first person in her class to get a driver’s license, the first in her class to get accepted into a university, and now she’s the first in her class to have to take her brother clothes shopping on the last day of summer holiday so he can blow away his ex-boyfriend. Not that she can really do that given the fact that they only have a budget of 300 New Zealand dollars. It’s like her parents expect her to be some sort of miracle worker. She pulls to a stop in the full parking lot and wrinkles her nose, _I thought no one would be here because it’s Sunday and the last day before school starts._ She face palms when she remembers that’s only for Ered Luin kids. Kids who go to Middleton Public will have been back in school for a while now. “Well, where do you wanna go first,” she asks Bilbo as they unbuckle.

He unhelpfully shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t even know what stores are still in here.” She has to muster all her willpower to not smack him in the face. _This is your own fault,_ she thinks sourly to herself as she gets out of the car, _You haven’t been a proper hag to him for years now, and it’s not like you could have honestly thought he would drag his anti-social self out to the mall on his own._ “All right,” she walks around the car’s bonnet, “Well, the first place we should go is right up here,” she points to the entry to their far right, “and then we can work our way down the length of the mall going into shops with good displays.”

The first shop is a bust, but she expected that. It’s not that the clothes weren’t good enough, no, even Bilbo had had to admit that the clothes were amazing, and he hates clothes shopping. The prices were what got them. One shirt alone was half their budget. As they’re walking out of the store, Bilbo asks incredulously, “And people pay that much for _clothes?!_ ”

Prim nods solemnly, “It’s tragic, I know. But, now that we know the style you want, we can look through the cheaper shops until we find a new wardrobe for you.” 

Bilbo bites the right corner of his bottom lip before hesitantly offering, “Well, isn’t my trying to change my image just to prove he hasn’t had an effect on me just proving that he has indeed had an effect on me?” 

Prim arches an eyebrow, “Who said we were doing this for him?” 

Bilbo tilts his head in confusion, “You said,” Prim realizes where he would have gotten the idea that this was all for Thorin, “Oh, no! No, sorry that there was confusion on that point. This is so you can blow him away with how good you look, yes, but only like ten percent. The other ninety percent of the motivation behind this is because a lot of times, it helps people move on if they change their look a bit.” _Wait, does Bilbo not want to be here?_ A panic rises in Prim, _Oh, cheese and rice!_ “But if you don’t want to get new clothes, we can go hang out with Bard.” 

Bilbo laughs reassuring her, “No, it’s fine.” He looks down at his clothes with a sigh, “I suppose I could use a new jacket at the very least.” He smiles at her in the way where she never knows if he’s faking it or not, “Besides, this way I get you all to myself.” 

_Okay, so it was real that time. Maybe. Ugh!_ She tries not to rip her hair out in frustration as she returns the smile and begins the long trek across the mall. They end up going into one store. _One._ And it’s not even a store that sells his kind of jackets. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to one of the other stores? I’m sure one of them has to have a hooded jacket somewhere.” 

Bilbo shakes his head as he absently flicks through the clothes rack looking at plain tee shirts, “We can look for something else, maybe a jacket without a hood or something of the like.” 

Prim sighs as he passes graphic tee after graphic tee. Some of them are actually ones that she knows he likes, he would be forcing them on Bard if he were here, and she wants to punch him for thinking they wouldn’t look good on him. Nothing is too good for her kid brother. Okay, so they’re just under four months apart and likely would have shared a birthday month if she’d not been early, but still. She’s older. She grabs all the shirts she knows he likes, some plain black tee shirts, a dark blue one, and two whites. She then snatches up a pair of black skinny jeans that look like they would fit him along with a dark red button down, “Try these on,” she thrusts them into his arms, “And show me each and every one of them, or I’m buying them all, budget be damned.” She herds him into a changing room as he silently protests so he doesn’t draw too much attention. She closes the door behind him with a huff and she puts a single hand on her hip as she waits impatiently for her brother to try to wriggle out of his current situation. When he doesn’t come bursting out of the room and instead mutters to himself, she stands at ease. “See, isn’t it so much better when you just do what I want.” There’s no way it’s a question. 

She turns with a self-satisfied smile so she can look for more clothes for him, and then she sees the worst thing in the world. Her eyes go wide for a moment before narrowing, and she can feel the hate of a thousand burning suns igniting deep within her heart. She ducks down behind a clothing rack so she can watch her enemy without being seen. The Game has begun once again. At the counter, she can see Tauriel, her BFF and babysitter for Dis aka Thorin’s sister, notice her odd behavior. Tauriel then looks around the shop and rolls her eyes with a barely stifled groan when she sees what’s going on. Tauriel mumbles, “This bitch,” and Prim silently giggles. She sees the door to the changing room open and she motions for Bilbo to go back inside. 

He sees what’s going on immediately and closes the door texting her, “Don’t you think it’s time,” she stops reading after that. She makes her way around the store and walks out only to walk back in as though she hadn’t just been there. She goes about “browsing” the store in a way that she wouldn’t be expected to notice her nemesis, but she keeps an eye on her at all times. The best way to deal with her is through avoidance if you are unprepared. It takes her about ten minutes of wandering before Prim sees her pick up a bracelet and head over to the counter. Tauriel stiffens behind the counter as she fixes a small smile in place to deal with her. The other cashier looks up with pity for Tauriel and unhidden disgust for she who shall not be named. They all know what’s coming next. Sure enough, right after she sets down the bracelet it begins. Tauriel walks around the counter with her to all of the highest displays and gets the required item down for her, then puts it back up and has to repeat the process until Tauriel is carrying four dresses, three blouses, and one men’s tee shirt back to the counter. 

Prim hates this. There’s nothing they can do in retaliation for this because it’s technically part of Tauriel’s job, and she would get in trouble for slapping the Hell out of a customer. Even this customer. When everything’s been paid for and she’s on her way out of the store, she trips over her own two feet and Tauriel and Prim both have to try not to laugh as she stumbles. It’s only after she’s gone that they both laugh openly. 

Bilbo emerges from the room at the sound of his sister’s laughter. He’s dressed in the black skinny jeans, which fit him just as snugly as she’d hoped, a white graphic tee with a large black tree taking up the majority of the right side, and the dark red button down hanging open with the sleeves rolled up. Prim smiles at him, “Much better.”She waves him back in telling him, “Keep one shirt of each color and give the rest to me.” 

He passes her the rest of the clothes, “Do I have to try on the others?” 

Prim shakes her head with a giggle, “No, but we are getting you more button downs like that.” Bilbo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything in opposition, so she tells him, “Now change back so we can buy this stuff and get out of here.” Once her directions have been followed and they find a dark blue, dark green, white, and a black button down so he has one for each day of the school week, the pair head to the counter. Prim automatically blurts, “I hate her so much.” 

Tauriel laughs at the rage behind the words because it’s just always struck her as hilarious when Prim gets so worked up about things. Swearing and rage have shocked everyone who has ever met Prim except for Bilbo. He’s the only one who thinks it’s not strange or funny when she gets bent out of shape. “You don’t have to worry, my friend, tis but a scratch.” 

Prim smiles despite her rage, “She’s a right yellow bastard for running away.” 

Tauriel’s friend behind the counter adds his two cents, “She’s quite the pansy indeed.” 

The three of them burst into laughter and Bilbo looks so sad and lost, it just makes the situation infinitely more hilarious. “I don’t get it,” he mumbles out as Tauriel finishes scanning the clothes. 

Prim hands over the money and pats Bilbo’s head in a very patronizing fashion, “Oh, I know, Bubby. I’ll have to show you later.” 

Tauriel shouts at her as she leaves the store, “Don’t you dare! Not unless I’m there to see it!” 

Prim waves her off before turning to Bilbo, who’s still pouting about not being in on the joke, “It’s Mony Python, so quit pouting.” 

Bilbo grimaces at the name, “I can be on the outside of the joke.” 

Prim laughs, “That’s what I figured you would say. Now come on, we have to get home so your dog doesn’t have a fit.” 

Bilbo scoffs, “Smaug does not have fits if I’m late to playing riddles with him.” 

Prim guffaws, “Excuse me, but who had to play riddles with him while you were in London? Oh, that’s right, this girl,” she points both of her thumbs at herself, “ If I was even a minute late he would start going bonkers and whine so loud I thought he was being flayed the first time it happened.” 

“You were late more than once?!” He almost shouts, “I am never leaving him alone with you again. If you had just gone downstairs to feed him and play riddles with him when you were supposed to, he wouldn’t have whined. Besides, Samug is patient, he can wait without whining.” 

Prim lets loose an ungodly cackle as they near the exit at the opposite end of the mall from where they parked, “Oh, that is rich. I’m going to have to record it next time it happens.” 

Bilbo is shaking his head indignantly while Prim laughs when it happens. They both knew this was a possibility, and that this moment was unavoidable, but they didn’t actually think it would happen today. Thorin is talking with one of the Company, it looks like the kid who was named after their father, Dwalin, is the one Thorin is sitting with. They’re easily two of the most popular people at Ered Luin. Her brother dated one of them, and then he did something that has earned him a place on her shit list just below She Who Shall Not be Named. He’d be at the top, but no one will ever pass her. 

She sees that Bilbo sees him too, and she shoves him in the opposite direction, “Let’s go.” Hopefully she can get him out of there before Thorin sees them. She keeps glancing over her shoulder, _Please don’t look. Please don’t look._ She catches him staring after them like a sad, brooding puppy with emotional constipation and-No!-not a puppy. _He looks like the delicious looking chocolate cake that the world ate, found out tasted awful, spit out, and the universe has stomped on it for deceiving the world. He looks like scum. Really sad and brooding scum._ She sighs when she looks back at Bilbo who’s looking back at Thorin, and she knows they’re looking at each other. _It would be so much easier to hate him if I knew what he did._

Bilbo shakes it off after a second though. He looks straight ahead and doesn’t slow down. It’s a little disturbing how her brother can just do that. Just shut down anything he doesn’t like feeling. She also kind of admires it. She doesn’t waste any time with formalities or giving him time to process things once they’re in the car park, “You all right?” 

He smiles at her, and this time she knows it’s fake, “Tis but a scratch.” She gives him a small frown before sighing because she knows he’s not going to talk to anyone until he’s good and ready to do so. So basically no one will ever know what the fuck happened in London. _He’s the one who was hurt,_ she keeps reminding herself as she clenches and unclenches her fist so she doesn’t punch him for being an idiot. They get into the car and go back to talking like they didn’t just see Thorin for the first time since Proms. For a second, she lets herself believe that the easy smile and warm laughter is real; that it _was_ just a scratch. But only a second. 


	7. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it's the first day back and Bilbo loves his morning routines. He may or may not have some issues to work through that will be touched on lightly. Smaug has no concept of the fact that he is a great dane. SMAUG AND RIDDLES! (Admittedly crass and kind of not the best, but it's the only one Bard's ever told so...) Siblings are siblings no matter where they come from. Also, there is no such thing as the Exams, I know this, but there also isn't an American run private school in the fictional town of Middleton which is right about where Hobbiton should be in New Zealand. There is a crash, as the title might imply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while I've been sick, this fic has pretty much consumed my life. Not that it hadn't before, but it's all I've had while my friends were in class. SNOW DAY today though! Sorry, I get way too excited about missing school without it counting against my attendance. Bilbo's a nerd like me, and his awful habit of not handing things he does in is one he gets from me.

Bilbo rises with Smaug, that is to say, Smaug leaps onto Bilbo’s bed and lays himself on top of Bilbo taking up most of his body before pawing at his face. Bilbo grunts simply rolling onto his side and pulling his pillow up around his head to protect him from Smaug’s paws. Smaug isn’t having any of that. He grabs the pillow between his teeth and starts shaking it like a squirrel he’s trying to kill. Bilbo lets out a wordless grunt as he tries to reclaim his pillow, but in the end, it is Smaug who is victorious. With Bilbo now thoroughly awoken, Smaug pads away narrowly fitting through the slim crack between the door and its frame, onto his next victim. Bilbo throws the shredded pillow at the door making it close, to which Smaug lets out a single bark of warning not to throw things in the house. Bilbo mutters as he drags himself out of bed and begins getting his new clothes around. He just grabs the clothes he tried on yesterday before heading into the bathroom with his phone blaring music as loud as it can. _Way Back When_ by Grizfolk fills the halls before being confined in their bathroom. He’s been in love with this song since he heard it at the end of _Mr. Peabody and Sherman_.

He turns the shower on as hot as it will go, undresses hastily, and then steps under the scalding spray of the showerhead. He stands there for a moment getting used to the burn, relishing in it, if he’s being honest. He can only just make out the words to the song over the shower as he sings along. He knows he fumbles over the words, even after all these months, but he doesn’t rightly care. The shower is maybe ten minutes given that the phone has cycled through _Way Back When_ by Grizfolk, _Don’t Let Me Go_ by Raign, and then _Who You Are_ by Jessie J. It’s presently playing _Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath_ , and it’s not that far into the song. Bilbo steps out of the shower, dries his hair with the effectiveness of a blow dryer with maybe one percent of the time. It pays to have short hair. Once he’s sufficiently died, his towel goes onto its rack and is smoothed out so it’s not bunched together anywhere along the top and he evens out the length of it in the front and back. He then quickly pulls on his black boxers that stop just two inches above his knees and cling to his form. 

He sighs as he runs a hand over his lightly muscled chest with a disappointed frown. He sucks in his stomach as he turns to the side, it barely moves, but he sees it dip significantly. _I’m going to have to eat a little less and work a little harder if I want to start developing muscle rather than just be flat._ He sighs pulling his shirt on, donning his many bracelets, stepping into his pants, finally shrugging on his button down on his way out of the bathroom. Since he’s been keeping his curls cut short on the sides and just a bit longer on top, he doesn’t really need to do anything with his hair save run his fingers through it. Even that, however, is almost always just for his own benefit. He’s never had a knot in his hair in his life as far as he can remember, which is to say since he was three. Before that, his parents kept his hair in a nice little buzzcut if the pictures he had to constantly pack and unpack as a child were anything to go by.

He carries his pajama pants and tee shirt to his hamper dropping them carelessly as he walks by. He can hear Prim getting around and ready for her shower as Smaug trots contentedly down the stairs toward his food dish. Bilbo slips his socks and shoes on, then follows Smaug to his food. “You ready, boy?” Smaug wags his tail with enough force his whole body moves with it as he paws at the ground twice. 

Bilbo decides to go with the only riddle Bard’s ever told him, “Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it, you’ll die.” Bildo crouches down in front of Smaug with his food bowl in hand, “Is it apples?” Smaug bares his teeth without doing anything else, “Is it humility?” Smaug considers for a moment before baring his teeth again, “Is it nothing?” Smaugh instantly barks happily as he pushes his front half up a few feet off the ground. Bilbo scratches him between his ears as he sets the food down, “Oh, you are such a clever boy!” He bends down planting a quick kiss just above Smaug’s eyes, “My clever boy.”

He leaves Smaug to enjoy his brekkie while he gets the eggs out and begins making a sunny side up egg for Prim, and he’s about to crack a second onto the pan when he thinks back to the mirror. He puts the second egg back and waits eagerly for his sister to come down. He puts some bread in the toaster when he hears the shower shut off. He’s just gotten the butter out by the time Prim comes down the stairs with her hair still damp. Today she’s in a pair of jeans with a lot of her better sharpie designs, a couple tank tops that aren’t flowy, but they don’t stick to her body either, and her favorite pair of converse sneakers. She has her friendship bracelet Tauriel gave her when they were in elementary school together, or primary, or whatever it’s called, on her wrist, and she’s got several rings on as well. “Ugh, you know me too well,” she says as she sets down their school bags in the empty chair beside her to pick up the fork across the island counter from her and starts moving her egg onto her freshly buttered toast. She loves the combination, but she refuses to eat it if it’s been made that way. She takes a bite out of the toast, “Seriously,” she swallows as Bilbo gets chocolate milk out of the fridge, “You spoil me.” She takes another bite, this time hitting the white part of the egg, “If I made you brekkie, it’d be a bowl of cereal that probably would have spilled onto the counter.”

Bilbo smiles as he pours her a glass and she finally folds her toast over on itself to smush the egg in the middle. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I shower first.”

She smiles as much as she can with food in her mouth, takes a swig of the chocolate milk, then nods to her brother, “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

Bilbo laughs lightly, “I already had my egg.”

She nods and, not for the first time in his life, Bilbo is thankful for his skills as a liar while he quickly rinses off the extra plate he had gotten and placed in the sink. He makes a show of washing it, then collects Prim’s dishes and does them up while she heads to the front door to get the paper. She brings it in while he is finishing drying the plates. She sets it on the corner of the counter like she knows Bilbo likes it to be, then she watches her brother make up a couple of salads for their parents. Pop-pop has had to watch his cholesterol lately, so Mom insisted on dieting with him. 

He places the salads in the fridge for their parents, then the two of them make for the door just as Bard’s truck pulls into their driveway. He’s never had a problem making himself at home in their neighborhood, which has always pleased Bilbo because he’s never quite gotten used to the feeling of it himself. The feeling of security their little suburb provides, it’s always failed to charm him into relaxing the way it does for everyone else.

Bard laughs wiping his finger along his upper lip as he sees Prim. She sloppily swipes her hand across her face wiping away her chocolate milk moustache, “Thanks.”

Bard smiles at her as she opens the door for Bilbo, “No problem.” Bilbo gets in the truck hoisting his sister up after him so she’s sitting on his lap, she closes the door as she and Bilbo work together to buckle in. “You are quite the pair, you know that.”

Bilbo sighs with satisfaction at the continuation of a routine, “You’ve been saying that every morning before school, even when we were walking together.”

Bard chuckles at the memory of when they were younger and had insisted on walking to his house, “Yeah, except then it wasn’t quite so much a compliment as a confounded observation. I could not, for the life of me, understand why two kids from the burbs would walk into the projects more than fifteen miles away to then walk _back_ that same fifteen miles and then another five in the opposite direction.”

Prim smiles at the image the three of them must have made walking in their not quite pristine uniforms from one end of Middleton to the other everyday, “Well, we had to get our legs toned somehow,” she jokes and she lifts up her pant leg, “I mean,” she motions at her twig-like calf, “You don’t just get that kind of definition from sitting in the car getting driven to school.” The cab of the truck erupts into a warm and familiar fit of laughter that easily finds its way in every time they ride with Bard. The rest of the drive is spent talking about the previous night’s episode of _Homeland_ and Prim made the mistake of being excited for _The Walking Dead_ ’s premiere next Sunday. Bilbo didn’t keep up with the show avidly like Prim, but he kept an eye on what was going on with Daryl, Carol, Beth, and Michonne. Bard though, he did not care for the show at all. At first, he’d been the one who’d introduced them to the show, but about part way through the second season he stopped watching and had grown to despise the Grimes Family in its entirety. 

Bard stops in the student parking lot and turns off his truck and Bilbo can’t help but notice that this year Thranduil’s porsche is still only a few cars down. Since Prim was the first person to attend driver’s training and subsequently get her license, she’d often driven illegally, then legally, until Bard got his own license for the truck his dad had passed down to him when he started high school. Prim has no sense of social navigation most of the time, and parking politics had been one such social norm she was unaware of. She’d parked in the rich kid end of the parking lot that first day, and they just kept parking there every day since. Given that Thranduil’s car wasn’t closer, Bilbo was going to assume they still weren’t publicly together. Bilbo didn’t think that they would be, but he’d hoped. He wanted them to be able to be together at school, but then again, it’s not like Bard exactly meshes with Thranduil’s crowd anyway. And Bard seemed to actually be the one concerned with how it would seem, which Bilbo definitely found odd, but quite endearing. Thranduil didn’t give a fig if people knew he loved Bard, and Bard didn’t want Thranduil’s reputation ‘tarnished’ by his presence. 

He supposes he wants them together just to know that if he and Thorin had made it to the school year, there might have been a chance. _What do I care?_ He asks himself, not bitterly, if anything it’s more inquisitive. He hadn’t really thought about it until he saw the porsche. The threesome make their way to their lockers, which are always one right after the other, though for some reason Prim and Bard always neglect to use their own lockers for anything but extracurriculars and the all use Bilbo’s locker as the host locker for their books. It makes books far more confusing than they need be, but he has to admit, the locker always looks...interesting by the end of the year after their personalities have altered it and mingled once more.

Prim starts the decorating with a calendar she puts on the locker door, “So that way we can be more organized with our homework,” she explains as Bilbo evens it out immediately after her hands are off it. 

Bard quirks a brow as his mouth raises into its usual teasing smirk, “Prim, dear, what makes you think we actually need that?”

Prim narrows her eyes, “You’re all the time complaining about forgetting assignments.”

He laughs as he rolls his eyes, “Dear, you mistake telling you that I’ve yet to start on something with complaining. I am more than aware of them, I simply don’t like them.”

Prim rolls her eyes now, “Well, it’s a bad habit,” Bilbo cuts her off, “It’s senior year. You think anyone really cares anymore? He tested well enough to carry himself through classes, and he got a better score on the Exams than you did.” Rather than take the SAT or ACT for American schools, the NCEA for New Zealand schools, or whatever tests the colleges you’re looking at require, Ered Luin simply has you take Exams that are than somehow translated into the proper score. Or something. Bilbo may not have been paying attention when the school explained it. 

Prim crosses her arms defensively, “He didn’t do _that_ much better than me,” Bilbo resists the urge to correct her grammar. She reaches for the calendar, “Well, if we’re not going to be using it, I might as well take it down.”

Bilbo catches her hand, “No!” He startles himself with the abruptness of it and physicality of his actions, “I, I think it should stay. I’m always forgetting due dates.”

Prim gives him a small smile and Bard lets out a deep breath, “Are you sure you’re not related?”

Prim and Bilbo both spin to face him and Prim firmly states, “We are related. He’s my brother.”

Bard allows his head to fall back, “You know what I meant.”

_In the “real” way,_ Bilbo thinks bitterly. Sometimes he hated Bard’s sense of family. Bard doesn’t particularly like most of his extended family and his younger siblings are more like his kids, but he would do anything for someone with his blood, even if it meant going against Bilbo and Prim. Prim stalks away from the locker, and Bilbo knows not to go to her right now. By first period she should be ready to talk, but right now she just needs to be alone. Instead, he closes their locker and says, “See you at lunch,” to a bewildered Bard.

Bilbo walks fast, anyone who has ever met him can tell you that, but when he’s with Bard and Prim he tones it back to a fast walk by most standards, which is actually slow enough he stands still between steps and it causes him a little pain. But at times like these, when he’s walking on his own, he’s moving faster than most of the rugby players jog. Something he learned from walking by the track at the same time as practice, it had been when he and Thorin first reconnected. He shakes his head at the thought as he tightens his grip on his sketch pad, note pad, and red pen. He has a blue pen and a black pen in his pant pocket, but red pens are his favorite. He goes by the forming crowds of students so fast that he can see hair follow him, and he feels the air moving around him fast enough that his shirt is probably billowing like a cape to some degree. Perhaps he should button the three lowest buttons. 

He turns to go upstairs to his first period class, Advanced Placement Chemistry 201 in classroom 311, which irks Bilbo to no end that it’s a prime number with all odd numbers in it, and Professor Grey is to be his instructor. He’s about halfway up the first flight of stairs when he hears Nori, Ori, and Dori howling at the fourth floor entrance to the stairwell. Bilbo doesn’t know if Thorin’s friends knew about their relationship, or the details of their breakup, but he doesn’t want to find out. He rushes up to the second floor and ducks quietly through the doors watching to make sure no one saw him. He turns around to look where he’s going and he’s running into someone large and firmly muscled. He automatically runs his left hand through his hair as he crouches down to start picking up the papers he knocked loose, “I’m so sorry! I really should watch where I’m going,” he evens out the papers by tapping them against the floor as the other person begins collecting the scattered materials as well. 

Bilbo stacks the papers on top of a binder and slips it into the school bag that fell in the center of it all. He notes the AP Chem book inside, “Oh, do you have Professor Grey first period? If so, I could walk with you to continue apologizing like an idiot.” _Oh, dear,_ “And, I’m going to stop talking in three..two, one.” He shakes his head with a soft laugh as they finish collecting everything when a deep and all too familiar voice says, “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” _Of course. Because who else in a high school with five hundred of the best, brightest, or richest other kids living in Middleton would I run into if not my ex-boyfriend._


	8. It Will Do Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of many brooding sessions, although this one is kinda quick. Bilbo and Thorin being stupid and themselves not knowing what to do in a bathroom alone together. (Also, majesty is acknowledged, albeit briefly) Also, someone needs to culture Bilbo, like pronto. He's more out of touch with modern culture than I am, and that is saying A LOT. PRIM IS PERFECTION!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no self control and if I have a thought on a chapter, I need to write it, and if it's written, it must be posted. Hence why this is the second chapter in as many hours. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

_I really would have been perfectly fine with this being some other charming, good looking, majestic, (did I just say majestic), boy or girl for me to meet for the first time and fall in love with. Heck, I could have settled for it being a young teacher’s aid or something, but Thorin? Really? Why you gotta do me like that, Universe? Ma put you up to this, didn’t she._ Bilbo doesn’t vomit all over the place with how nervous he is, so that’s a plus. He guesses. 

Thorin smiles hopefully at Bilbo when he doesn’t sprint away or punch him in the throat, “Must drive you crazy that Grey’s room is a prime number made of all odd numbers. You’re still…” he trails off where adorable should be, “Well, it’s nice to see you still ramble.” Thorin gets his book out as a silent way of confirming that he does, in fact, share a class with Bilbo. He knows he’s obscenely overreaching and that Bilbo would be completely in line to torture him for months before castrating him and then shooting him execution style for what he did, but he has to ask, “Is that invitation to walk to class still open?”

Is it? _Is what? Why? How am I...right. Oh, jeez._ “Uh,” he opens his mouth to talk, then closes it, tries again, then closes it once more. “Hm.” He lets himself go from crouching to sitting as he thinks, Thorin still kneeling a foot away from him, “I...I don’t see any reason why not.” He finally says with a tone that is neither here nor there and much too soft in Bilbo’s opinion. He’d meant for it to sound casual. He’s normally a much better liar than this.

Thorin stays kneeling as Bilbo rises, “Well, are you coming or not?” Thorin doesn’t need to be asked twice. He closes his locker harshly in his rush, thankfully no one is around to see. Bilbo is about to open the doors to the stairwell when he remembers why he ducked out in the first place and he stops just short, “Your friends...do they,” Bilbo draws out the question just to make sure that the brothers have gone, “do they know anything about us?”

Thorin shakes his head, and that doesn’t really surprise Bilbo. Thorin may be out, but he’s never actually publicly dated another guy, so he’s not sure why he thought he would be different. Probably because Thorin had been different from the guys and girls Bilbo had dated before him. Granted, there hadn’t been many, but there’d been a few, and all of them, male and female alike, had been secret. Ori would have had a heart attack and Dwalin would have scared them to death. As far his folks knew, Thorin was his first crush, first boyfriend, and first heart break. The last bit’s true.

Bilbo nods, “Good to know.” He walks into the stairwell and is torn for a second about whether or not to hold the door. On the one hand, that might be sending signals, but on the other, all four of his parents had taught him to be gentlemanly regardless of intentions. He holds the door open. Thorin walks through just as the brothers exit the stairs.

He looks curiously at the door on the first floor, “Did you run into me because you were hiding from them?”

Bilbo shrugs as his cheeks redden, “I don’t know bro-code, especially not Company bro-code. I have no way of knowing if lynching your buddy’s ex is normal.” Thorin laughs warmly and deep from his stomach, which makes Bilbo miss his laugh, but it also makes Bilbo kind of pissed that he has to miss his laugh in the first place. “Anyway, sorry again for running into you.” He’d made a promise to apologize, and Bilbo may tell some lies, but he never goes back on a promise. It makes sense. To him at least, and really that’s all that matters.

Thorin looks genuinely shocked that Bilbo is apologizing for running into him, and it hurts Bilbo more than it should, “I keep my promises, Thorin, you know that. I promised more apologies.”

Thorin gives him the You’re-Adorable-as-All-Get-Out Look, as he tells Bilbo softly, “I’m sorry too.” They go up the stairs, “I should have never stolen that money from you,” Bilbo freaks out at the word usage going on here with his tone not lowered and people around, “ _Are you foolish or insane?!_ ” Bilbo hisses out.

He drags Thorin into the nearest bathroom and checks that it’s empty before locking it, _Why do the bathrooms here lock?_ “You cannot simply say that you stole,” Bilbo turns back to Thorin who is already holding a _he-ooge_ amount of money in his hands, “What is that?”

Thorin blushes as he suddenly sees that this is quite possibly a worse idea than stealing the money in the first place, “It’s, um, well...it’s the money I stole from you, plus one hundred thousand dollars.”

Bilbo shivers at the sheer amount of it, and where was he even keeping that?! Bilbo leans against the bathroom wall ignoring the fact that it’s a public restroom and he’ll want to burn his skin later as Thorin continues, “I know that there’s no way I can possibly make up for the loss of your father’s necklace, but...I hope this is a start, even if it’s only money.”

_Only money?! He’s giving me one hundred thousand dollars, and ‘it’s only money,’ is all he says. Well, that’s not all he says, and it’s true that it is only money where the necklace had been far more valuable than that, but one hundred thousand dollars! Prim can go to college on that. Bard can go to college on that. Bard’s family could sell their house and move like they’ve been planning. Or one of his parents could quit their job and find one that isn’t an hour away from Middleton._ Bilbo takes the pack full of money carefully, like it might disappear any second, “This…” he looks down at the bag and thinks of how much it is. It really is too much. But what Bard could do with it…Bilbo closes his eyes and swallows his pride, “Thank you. This,” he looks up at Thorin, “It will do good.” 

Thorin’s brows draw together, but then he’s got the Adorable Face and he smiles, “You’re going to give it to Bard, aren’t you.” He wasn’t really asking.

Bilbo nods with a blush and a shy smile, “Yeah. His family could use this money.”

Thorin smiles wider, “You are something else.”

Bilbo zips up the pack jerkily and his hands are shaking. They’re in here for a reason, “You can’t just say you stole money from me.”

Thorin crosses his arms narrowing his eyes, “But I did.”

Bilbo huffs, “Well, yes, but you can’t just say that.”

“Why not?” He asks incredulously with the slightest hint of a pout, correction, brood, seeping in as though Bilbo's prohibition of his speaking of stealing from Bilbo is somehow thwarting his plans to masochistically brood or something of that sort.

Bilbo scoffs, “Well, for one, someone could over hear you, and then where would you be, hm? You wouldn’t have the good sense to deny it, and then word would get out that you stole, and then no one would trust you. You’d be ruined in Middleton, and it would take weeks if not months for the name Durin alone to recover from something like that.”

Thorin sets his jaw, “I would deserve no less.”

Bilbo seethes, “You made a mistake!” He shouts at Thorin. He takes a deep breath and makes himself calm down, “You made a mistake. That doesn’t mean your name should be ruined. It’d be bad enough if Prim or Bard were the ones to hear, then there’d be no chance of stopping word from getting back to Mr. Suit.”

Thorin gapes at him, “You haven’t told Mister Dwalin or Miss Ori?” His voice is so soft, but it’s not at all comforting. He sounds almost dangerous.

Bilbo glares right back at the glowering giant folding an arm as though to cross them, but then points accusingly with his other, “No, I’ve not told them, and nor are you going to. Is that clear, Thorin? I will not have my p-the Suits-hating the son of their godson on principle for something that they can do nothing about.”

Thorin looks angrier than Bilbo has ever seen him, but he softens almost instantly, “I have no right to such kindness.” _And the brooding continues_.

Bilbo sighs as he moves over to Thorin and places a comforting hand on his bicep momentarily, “Everyone deserves kindness.” And there are those damned eyes telling Bilbo he’s Adorable. “Don’t even think about saying it. I didn’t like it then, I certainly don’t like it now.” He pauses when he sees Thorin’s face fall, “Not that I haven’t missed it.”

Thorin smiles at him, and then the warning bell rings. Thorin schools his expression, “You should go first.”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow, “Why, we were just talking?”

Thorin laughs, “But that’s not how it would appear.”

Bilbo tilts his head in the way he does when he’s clearly not getting something he should, “How would it appear?”

Thorin smiles, “Forget it. Let’s just go out together.”

Bilbo clears his throat uncomfortably as they exit the bathroom, “I forgive you for...what you did, but that doesn’t mean…” he shakes his head sadly.

Thorin knits his eyebrows together in concentration as they head into the room, “Wh-oh. Oh!” He shakes his head, “No. No! I-I would never,” Bilbo tilts his head again, “Well, not _never_ it’s just I would not think to,” Prim dashes into the room as the   
final bell rings and she shoves her brother away from Thorin glaring at him as she goes, then leading Bilbo to a seat. 

The second they’re seated she whispers, “Are you okay? Did her hurt you? Where’d you get that pack? Is he trying to bribe you with hush money?!” She growls at the possibilities of what it could be for and she sends a withering glare to Thorin that actually makes him sink lower in his seat, “ _I will end him in a way so painful that no one has thought of it yet_.”


	9. Return of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf being highly unprofessional as most science teachers are. Then in some ways that no science teacher is. Public display of hidden feels and stoicism. Gandalf is bad at keeping up on local news and is the WORST baby sitter ever. Like, you leave him with a toddle for ten minutes and they're on a table, crawling around with scissors, getting their ear pierced by their older cousin via a needle and a lemon Parent Trap style, and falling off of said table. Just awful babysitting. Overprotective Gandalf gets a tiny bit bitchy and a lot a bit clueless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer than the others have been. True story about the pH thing, btw.

Gandalf comes out of the room adjoining the two chemistry classrooms on this floor pushing a cart with a copper coil, an AC electricity generator, and enough magnets for all the students who signed up for the class this hour. He stops the cart beside his desk, all the students are already seated. No one goes to Ered Luin without hearing horror stories about The Grey and his tardy policy. Gandalf lets a smile grace his lips for a long moment as he begins scrolling through attendance.

The smile broadens when he reads Baggins, Bilbo. The Bagginses that attended Ered Luin tended to be quiet and intelligent. Some of his best students have been Bagginses, in fact, Bungo Baggins, a former student and friend before he passed had a son who would be about this age. Next there’s Brandybuck-Burke, Primula. He looks up to see if he can spot her family’s signature orange hair, and sure enough, she’s the only redhead. She’s sat beside a young man with a deep tan, blue eyes, and honey blonde curls. _There’s always the hope that she doesn’t take after Dwalin Burke,_ Gandalf thinks bitterly as his smile goes back to its original width. 

The next few names are ones he’d expect to be in his class from what he’s heard from the other science teachers. They’re good students, not spectacular, but well behaved and studious. His smile vanishes completely. A shadow falls over his face as he rereads the name, _This can’t be right! It’s not possible,_ he frantically scans the small pool of faces, as he calls out, “Thorin Durin?” He stands up angrily, he consults the list of names and scans the crowd looking for any known pranksters.  
His eyes settle on a student with blue eyes, a thin nose when compared to those of other Durins but average by most standards. He has the same solid build as his forefathers, though his shoulders are slightly broader than he remembers. Gandalf says his name again, low and gravelly like a curse, “Thorin.” 

The boy’s eyes widen, he swallows thickly and rises from his seat as students are expected to when addressed by their instructors, “Yes, sir?”  
Gandalf sits back down, “This isn’t possible,” he runs an assessing gaze over the boy before him. He is the spitting image of a student he had sixty years ago, and he has to be going mad. The stress has finally gotten to him. He’s snapped. He stares at the attendance screen for a few seconds, then clicks on his student information and starts speed reading. He stops when he sees his full name: Thorin Richard Oakenshield Durin III. _I’ve not lost my mind, it’s just happened that there’s another of him._ Gandalf glares up at the boy who is still standing expectantly with confusion and a dash of fear, but also the smallest pinch of intrigue, in his eyes. His face is rather stoic, and Gandalf hates it. He hates everything about Oakenshield Durins.

He clicks his tongue before coolly stating, “You may be seated.” He goes through the rest of the list silently and unnervingly. Once he’s finished, he returns to the cart and wheels it in front of his desk, “How many of you have heard of me?” Everyone stands up, “How many of you have heard about my tardy policy?” They stay standing, “How many of you have had someone in your family in my class?” Five students sit, “How many of you heard good things?” Half of the students sit. He makes a note of it in his head, _Better than most years._ “How many of you are realistically expecting an A given what you’ve heard?” There are three people who remain standing and one person who stands back up. It’s Oakenshield who stands back up. Gandalf’s face flashes disapproval for a moment before reverting back to its typical state of amusement.

“Your four, come with me,” he nods to the back room, then he notes that Miss Brandybuck moves around the boy with curly hair rather than following him out into the aisle. He has a moment of indecision as the other students near him before he adds, “You too, Mr. Baggins.”

The curly haired boy raises his head before reluctantly getting up to follow him. Gandalf has learned that the Brandybucks and Bagginses always tend to gravitate toward each other. They also tend to make trouble together. As Mr. Baggins approaches him, Gandalf states low enough for only him to hear, “Why did you not stand with the others?”

Bilbo shrugs, “I couldn’t decide if I would get an A.”

Gandalf smiles as he leads him to the door where the others wait, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. Are you going to work toward an A?” Bilbo nods, “Then you shall get one.” Gandalf moves to the door, opens it, and then points to the two other carts with the same set up as the one Gandalf brought out, “You are to figure out the experiment, and then perform it separately from your classmates. Three of you will need to find the appropriate materials and bring them out. You have until the end of the hour to do so.”

Miss Brandybuck asks, “Do you just pick who gets the cart?”

Gandalf smiles as he walks over to a white board and writes, “Flourine + Uranium + Carbon + Potassium=___” and then “Nobellium=___” He steps back and watches as the gears spin. Miss Brandybuck writes out their atomic masses, “Incorrect.” She erases them. Then the Greenleaf girl, Thranduil’s triplet, he can see it in the her hair and eyes, writes out their proton count. “Incorrect.” Mr. Baggins chuckles. He picks up the marker, uncaps it, and then writes out their symbols so they form words, “F+U+C+K No.” There is a deep bark of laughter from Oakenshield, and then Bilbo is going over and grabbing both carts. 

Miss Greenleaf gasps, “He can’t take both!”

Gandalf smiles wistfully, “He answered both questions. He gets both carts.”

She quickly drops the debate and sets to looking for the materials required. Oakenshield watches the cart go by, then stands there watching him. Mr. Baggins nods to Miss Brandybuck who then beams at him as she takes the second cart. The other boy, 

Gandalf recognizes him as being the latest Strider in his family, does as Miss Greenleaf does. Once Brandybuck and Baggins have left the room, Oakenshield follows them out to the classroom.

Gandalf returns to the front of the room to teach the rest of the class as the other five students work on their assignment. He begins the day with review of the basic principles, then the more advanced, and finally he introduces the new material. And, of course, by “review” Gandalf gives them the terminology and equation names, the chapters they can be found in, and then sits at his desk to watch his five go. It’s more than he’s to working with, normally there’s only two, hence the two prepared carts. The “challenge” came to him on the spot, and the FUCK No was in response to Miss Brandybuck’s question. No one can say he lacks in originality. He watches as Oakenshield makes off with the spare cart sitting in front of Gandalf’s desk heading for the corner just off of the main door while Baggins and Brandybuck head to the back corners. Gandalf can’t help the momentary lift at the corners of his mouth when Oakenshield takes the cart, but he soon stomps it. Durins are vile, especially the Thorins. It’s another minute before Miss Greenleaf and Strider appear. They’ll both have to return to the back room soon enough given that they grabbed the wrong generators.

He watches Strider immediately look to Oakenshield’s cart to verify that he got the right materials. _He watches how others work, learns from their mistakes._ He moves on to Miss Greenleaf who has become so caught up in figuring out the connections of the parts that she has overlooked her mistake. _Miss Greenleaf needs to learn to notice the finer details._ She doesn’t notice Strider silently slipping away to change his generator.

Gandalf gets up and roams his silent room as though checking to make sure they’re doing the reading, but he keeps monitoring the progress of his true pupils. Oakenshield is doing surprisingly well given his heritage. He’s already figured out how to arrange everything, but he has the positions wrong. _The coil should be standing, not lying. He’ll realize his mistake soon. He’s too meticulous not too._

Next is Miss Brandybuck. Her experiment is coming along nicely, and the set up has almost finished. _She works quickly, like she sees the schematic in her head before she has all of the parts. Impressive, but also dangerous. As long as her observational skills don’t suffer from it, she should be fine._ He finishes with Bi-Mr. Baggins, and notices that he has everything set up already, and he is watching Gandalf watch them. _Odd._ Miss Brandybuck is the quickest he’s ever seen to grasp the experiment. _How is it that Mr. Baggins has already finished?_

Mr. Baggins asks, “May I begin the experiment?” He already has his notepad out and open with the “Magnet Melting,” written at the top and a hypothesis written out. 

“How is it that you’ve already gotten this far?” Gandalf inquires without judgment, merely curiosity.

Mr. Baggins smiles sadly, “I was shown this experiment once, long ago, by a friend of my father’s.” Gandalf looks at Mr. Baggins, _Bilbo,_ with a new and more inquisitive gaze. _The child of Bungo Baggins and his wife Isabella had light brown hair that could easily have faded to dark honey blonde. The real identifier would be his ears,_ sure enough, when Gandalf looks at Bilbo’s ears, he sees that one has a small scar beneath it and the other has a healed piercing. An overzealous cousin, on the Took side naturally, had pierced his ear as an infant to test the method before doing it to herself while Gandalf was watching him. The scar came from Gandalf actually. He’d been left to watch him for ten minutes, and, well...Gandalf should not be trusted with babies.

He breathes out, “Bilbo Baggins,” to see how it feels on his tongue when he wants to be shouting it. He wants to scoop Bilbo up and take him away to tell him about his father. Then he wants to find out Bilbo already knows. 

Bilbo shrugs deciding that he isn’t going to wait. He turns on the generator, places the magnet above the coil, lets it fall into the spiral and be held there. It’s only a few moments before the magnet starts to become an almost white pink with heat. He hears Gandalf whisper his name, so he turns thinking that he did something wrong, “You sort of spaced out, I-I figured it’d just be best to go ahead.”

Gandalf looks lost for a second before coming back to himself, “Very good. You made a decision.” Gandalf smiles proudly at him.

Bilbo returns the smile, albeit more than a little confusedly, “Thank you?” He turns back to his work and begins recording the reaction. Gandalf walks hurriedly back to his desk and ignores all of his students as he clicks on Bilbo’s name. How long has he been in Middleton? Gandalf hadn’t heard any news of Bungo’s arrival, he hasn’t heard one word from Bungo in ten years. Last he heard of Bungo and his “little prince” Bilbo, they were going to move to New York. He clicks on the address and sees that it is the address of Bag End. _Dwalin Burke lives in Bag End. Why is he living there? Has Mr. Burke moved? I know that he and his wife, Ori, were to be his guardians should...No. No, I would know if anything were to have happened. There would have been talk out of the Shire about it._ Gandalf knows his platitudes are meaningless. He fights the urge to get on the phone and call the emergency contact number and demand an explanation. He doesn’t throw anything. He doesn’t shout angrily about how unfair it is that such a brilliant mind was lost, not to mention the injustice of Bilbo growing up without his father. _At least he had Izzy._ He keeps repeating that to himself. He had Izzy. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t an orphan like Gandalf. He had his mother, and now he has the Burkes as well. Which means he also has the Brandybuck girl. _Primula._ He has a sister. He has a family. Gandalf closes out of the program and checks on the progress of the others. _He has a family._

Once everyone has completed their experiment, except for Miss Greenleaf who took too long to figure out her error in generators, he brings them all into the back room with their carts. He stares at Bilbo, the Little Prince, he had been such a small boy when he left at five, it is so odd to see him almost fully grown now. A king returned. He clears his throat turning to Oakenshield. He focuses on despising him, “Did you record your findings, procedure, go through the scientific method, and draw an image of the final result?”

Oakenshield’s eyes go wide at the rapid succession of demands. He flips through his notebook, “Um, I,” Oakenshield opens to the page, “I didn’t draw it.”

Gandalf snatches the notebook examining his work. He would have to watch him, “Good.” He moves on down the line like that: Miss Greenleaf automatically came in last as she did not complete the experiment. Strider in fourth because he did not think to grab his notebook because he’d focused on the experiment after it was set up. _He and the Greenleaf girl are too narrowminded._ He looked over Primula’s with a sort of care he’s not extended to many, he saw a few mistakes, but nothing that would knock her out of second place, “Very good.” Then came Bilbo. He can’t look at it the same way as everyone else’s. He just can’t. All he can see is the Little Prince that loved to giggle and squeal in delight. The young boy who would greet strangers with a hug. The little child who was not afraid of anything. Losing his father had changed him. He will do his best. He has to. No one else can mold students the way Gandalf can, and Bilbo needs to be molded just as Bungo had. He needs to do better, to somehow make it up to Bungo. He examines Bilbo’s notebook three times, looking for any flaw. He finds none. “Nicely done, Mr. Baggins.”

He clears his throat once more, “This was the first of five tests in a competition. The prize being a guarenteed B on the final,” the silence among the children is filled with tension. This is his normally his favorite part, where he places his bets on who has the drive to win, but he can’t find the same joy in it, “and a very special prize.” They all know that he means a letter of recommendation from him to any school of their choice. Gandalf has studied in more than a dozen countries, lectured in twice as many, and has ten degrees outside of teaching where he has four degrees. A letter from him will get them into any school, regardless of their Exams or grades. “At each test, the one in last will be eliminated from the competition, so I’m sorry, Miss Greenleaf, but you are the first out of the competition.” She took it with grace, just as Thranduil had last year when he lost the final challenge. She leaves the room and takes her seat. He doesn’t have to see her to know she’s begun the readings. “To the rest of you, congratulations,” he smiles at Strider, Primula, and Bilbo, then focuses on Bilbo, “You’ve earned this.”

He lets them all go back to their seats where Primula instantly begins talking to Bilbo while glaring at Thorin. Gandalf wants nothing more than to laugh when he finds himself smiling at this. He can still take pleasure in commiserating with someone about his hatred for another. He doesn’t care that his dislike for this Thorin is petty, at the moment. To Oakenshield’s credit, he does start the reading. Though he doesn’t finish it. He’s too busy staring at Bilbo. _Why is he staring at Bilbo?_ Gandalf angrily questions. _Whenever his grandfather would stare at someone, it meant one of two things. One: that that person was going to be beat up by Thorin’s Company, or two: That the person being stared at was going to be getting a stern talking to from Thorin himself. Well, not on my watch!_ Gandalf narrows his eyes at the Oakenshield boy and glares until he looks at him. Oakenshield’s eyes go a little wider, but there is still that hint of a challenge. _Well, this just will not do._

Gandalf rises from his desk, “Pop quiz!” The class freezes. He goes down the alphabet knowing full well that the students will get the more difficult questions. He ups the ante with the one right before Oakenshield. He turns his cold glare on Oakenshield, “What is the _EXACT_ pH level of distilled water?” Oakenshield smiles smugly. _That’s right. This is an easy one. One everyone knows. Which is exactly why none of these kids will get it right._  
Oakenshield rises and simply states, “Seven.”

_WRONG!_ “Are you sure?”

Oakenshield chuckles, “Yes.”

The rest of the class exchanges smiles thinking he’s gotten it right. Something catches Gandalf’s eye just as he’s about to explain how Oakenshield is wrong and has earned the entire class five more chapters of notes by the end of the week as well as a test tomorrow. It is Bilbo raising his hand quietly like a proper Baggins. Gandalf’s heart picks up a bit and then aches at the memory of Bungo doing the exact same thing. “Yes, Mr. Baggins?”

Bilbo stands up quickly, almost too quickly, and Primula has to slide his chair out further so his chair doesn’t fall over, “I’d like for Mr. Durin to phone a friend on this one.”

Gandalf sighs heavily and turns to Oakenshield, “Are you two friends?”

That’s rule number one of phoning a friend, you have to actually _be_ friends with the person. Gandalf found that it forced students to expand their social horizons if they had to actually befriend someone, and then study groups would naturally form and grades would improve. It’s an all win situation. Except for in situations like this. Students weren’t supposed to know that you could request a student phone a friend. Gandalf is doing this for him.

Oakenshield looks to Bilbo who nods, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Gandalf hears a smack and whips his head around just in time to see Primula tucking her hand away and Bilbo rubbing his arm. He didn’t see that. “Favorite color?”

Oakenshield blurts, “Orange.”

Gandalf looks to Primula who huffs, “Yes.”

“Birthday.”

“September 14, 1996. It’s in fifteen days.”

Gandalf narrows his eyes, “Where did he grow up?”

Bilbo word vomits, “That’s not fair.”

Gandalf arches a bushy brow, “Isn’t it?”

Bilbo shakes his head, “No. It’s not.”

Gandalf narrows his eyes in curiosity, “Why not?”

Bilbo looks around as though he’s just now realizing where he is, “B-because...that’s, that’s private.”

Gandalf sighs sadly, “What is his nickname?”

Oakenshield stammers for a moment, “N-nickname? He, he doesn’t have a nickname.”

Gandalf smiles wickedly, “Everyone has a nickname.” He can see Primula smiling as Oakenshield stares him down nervously, but with a growing sense of defiance.

“It’s…” He looks to Bilbo, and so does Gandalf, to make sure he’s not mouthing it to him. He shakes his head, “A childhood nickname.”

Gandalf grins, “Clock’s ticking.”

Oakenshield closes his eyes to concentrate and then smirks proudly, “Chomper.”

Gandalf is about to laugh in his face, but Primula smacks the table in frustration. He was right. How long ago did Bilbo return? “Very well then. Phone a friend.”

The class turns to Bilbo whose eyes widen considerably as Oakenshield makes his call, “I’d like to place a collect call to Mr. Baggins.”

Gandalf sneers, “Mr. Baggins, I believe it’s for you.”

Bilbo swallows as his right hand starts picking at one of many leather straps adorning his left wrist. “Um...The pH level of distilled water is 7,” the class gorans, Gandalf shushes them violently, “at 25 degrees celsius.” He pauses to take a deep breath, his picking increasing, “t-this value decreases, um, with increasing temperatures...At, uh, at 50 degrees C, its pH level is 6.55.” The class, even Primula looks surprised that he knows this, but Oakenshield doesn’t. “It is also, uh, noteworhty that water that has been exposed to air is mildly acidic,” he swallows again, “because it absorbs carbon dioxide from the air.” He shifts on his feet, “So, there’s no real way to know the _exact_ ,” he puts air quotes around the word, “pH level of distilled water. In this situation.” He takes a deep breath and it comes out shaky, but thankfully Primula is the only one who seems to notice.

Thorin gives him a small thumbs up while Prim smiles up at him proudly. _That’s my kid brother._ She even ignores the thumbs up from that doucheface. He earned it.

Gandalf huffs and puffs, “That is very true, Mr. Baggins, you may be seated.” He takes his seat hastily and leans forward, clearly wanting to die. Gandalf turns to Oakenshield and whispers, “It would seem you owe Mr. Baggins. Greatly. You would do well to remember that.” With that, he leaves a stunned Oakenshield to ponder over just what Gandalf’s deal is. Gandalf steals a glance at Bilbo as he keeps quizzing, _I cannot promise you will make it through this in one piece, nor can I guarantee that you will return to the Shire the boy you came here as, but I will do everything in my power to fulfill the promise I made your mother and father._


	10. Eat Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch

After AP Chem 201, Bilbo had AP Physics 203, then Philosophy 4, and AP Statistics 202. Now he is in lunch, still not understanding why Professor Grey had looked at him so strangely during Chem and Physics. He’s standing behind Bard in the lunch line and in front of Prim. He hasn’t looked around for a place to sit, they always sit with Tauriel and she always sits with Legolas, and Strider. Or, more rather, Legolas and Strider sit with Tauriel. He can’t help but wonder which will come first: Legolas realizing she isn’t interested in him, or Tauriel noticing he thinks he’s in love.

Bard’s loading up on anything that is non-perishable, while Prim is getting a salad with breadsticks. Bilbo doesn’t have a tray, he’s just hear to talk. The lunch lady gives him the same sad smile as she always does, “Still not hungry?” This woman has taken an invested interest in getting Bilbo to eat some time before he graduates. He hasn’t eaten lunch since he started back here when he was eleven. He shakes his head returning her kind smile and meaning it. Prim huffs beside him, Bard laughs on the other side, just like every other day.

They finish in line, none of them paying because food is counted as part of tuition, and in some cases so is lodging. Bilbo thought about living on campus, just to see what it was like, but he found that the lodgers were a very tight knit group. They spent every day seeing each other in the dorms, they spend holidays during the school year together, and they aren’t very welcoming to newcomers. Well, they are, but it just didn’t feel like it to Bilbo when he had first gotten back from the States. He shakes off the thoughts of lodging as Prim rolls her eyes, but laughs despite herself, at some joke Bard makes on their way to their normal table. 

Tauriel regards him with concern when she sees his empty hands, she doesn’t normally make a point of looking so she can save herself the disappointment, but she always checks once in a while, just in case. Beside her Legolas asks, “How have your classes been?” Clearly speaking to Tauriel. When isn’t he talking to Tauriel?

She turns to him with her normal childish smile in place, “They’ve been all right. I started the day with AP Psychology, then moved on to my Computer Science class, after that was Cultural Literature, which you know, and then,” she pauses as a blush rises to her face, “then I had Astronomy. I-”

Suddenly there’s an outcry from the two tables that have been pushed together since the dawn of time, the table of the Company, though in situations like this where only a majority of the company are together for lunch due to scheduling, it seems a bit excessive, “ _EAT, BALLS!_ ” 

Everyone in the dining hall goes silent as they turn to stare at the table. Bilbo sighs shaking his head, as do most of the prep kids that hang out with or are in some way, or want to be, associated with Thranduil. Bard cracks a smile, Prim rolls her eyes. Bilbo figured something like this would happen. Dwalin Reese, Ori’s great-nephew, the oldest that is, had been excited for his brother to join them at Ered Luin, but not for the reasons you might think. Thorin had mentioned in passing that Dwalin liked to embarrass his younger brother, Balin, and had given him the unfortunate nickname of Balls.

At the moment, Balin could not be more horrified as his older brother points at his full plate of pasta and repeats slower and lower, “Eat. Balls.”

Balin tries his best not to stab his brother in the hand with his fork. So far it seems to be working well, but Balin’s finding it harder and harder to stay motivated to restrain himself as his brother reiterates, “Come on, Balls, you’re a growing boy, you need to eat more,” says Dwalin with a shit eating grin.

Balin, to his credit, still manages not to stab his brother. One of the Company, probably Bofur given his crazy hair, elbows Dwalin discreetly, causing him to frown and turn to his brother, “Sorry.”

Balin shrugs, then everyone seems to turn away. Everyone save for Bilbo. He feels an odd compulsion to see what happens while Prim tries to press Tauriel for information on why Astronomy made her blush without Legolas having a clue. He sees Balin take a bite of his pasta, which then provokes Dwalin to say something, and then there’s a spoon landing against his knuckles with a resounding _crack!_ muffled by the sounds of chatter at the surrounding tables.


	11. Bofur, At Your Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art class and gym. Dwalin and Prim are intense football players.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a few days, I've been really under the weather recently, (like, puking all the time under the weather), and today was my first day back to school. This is a long one.

Lunch ends soon enough, and mostly without incident. Prim was unsuccessful with her questions, not that Tauriel had to try very hard to evade her questions. It’s not until Bard and Bilbo are alone at their locker getting their supplies for their fourth period classes that Bilbo gives Bard the backpack saying only, “I want no questions, no complaints, and no denials. Either you take it or I give it to Tilda and walk her to a toy store.” He walks away before Bard can even open the bag.

Bilbo disappears into the flood of students, thanking his mother for his talent for being seemingly invisible when he wants to be. She was like that too, always seeming to be able to melt into the background of any situation and slip away. He once sat next to a kid for the entirety of a semester in English, and he had no clue what Bilbo’s name was. Bilbo ducks into the Sketching Room, there’s a separate room for virtually every medium of visual art you can imagine.

He takes his normal seat by the window in the corner of the room, the seat that happens to be blind to most of the class thanks to a bookshelf, and he moves it just a little further into the corner. He swings his leg over the stool cracking his back, neck, and knuckles before opening up his sketchbook and retrieving all of his pens from his pocket and setting them in the upper left corner. He immediately follows that up by snapping a selfie, setting it on the table, and reaching for the pen with his right hand to begin his self-portrait. He finds drawing with his right hand to be more suitable than with his left.

The class always starts the same way, with Galadriel, she never allows students to call her by her last name because she sees everyone as equals, having the kids draw themselves. The fact that she goes by Galadriel is weird, unprofessional, and startling compared to the opinions of every other teacher in Ered Luin, including the other art teachers and her own son, but Bilbo likes the thought behind it. Most of the students just go with it, but not Bilbo. He’s been harassing her for the last six years to learn what her surname is. He cannot stand calling an adult by their name.

He’s got the linework for his face finished by the time passing ends and Galadriel begins calling roll. She calls his name, but marks him present without waiting for a response. She knows where he is. At the end of attendance, Bilbo’s finished drawing the outline of the hair. She explains the assignment for a couple minutes, and Bilbo’s got the thousands of small lines that curve and wrap themselves around each other drawn out as his hair. A few minutes later and the crosshatching is done in the hair. He moves on to crosshatch the shadows on his face. He’s signing his name to the bottom of the page, the date written beneath it, within thirty minutes of having sat down. He’s got another forty minutes to kill.

He moves quickly from his hidden corner to Galadriel’s desk and sets the pad down in front of her. She glances up, then at Bilbo and his selfie, smiles at the funny face he made, and marks him with 100% in the gradebook. “Excellent, as usual,” she opens the drawer in the center of her desk producing a white envelope, “An invitation.” She nods for Bilbo to return to his seat.

Bilbo reads the fine calligraphy, arguably Galadriel’s favorite art dorm as it involves language and art, “Mister Bilbo Baggins.” He turns it over in his hands as he takes his seat. He notes the red wax seal has the symbol of Ered Luin, a raven in flight, before he opens the envelope carefully. He pours the contents out onto the table, it’s a simple piece of cardstock with a time and place written in Galadriel’s normal chicken scratch, “16:15, my office.” That gives Bilbo fifteen minutes between the last class of the day and his apparent meeting with Galadriel in her studio. It’s technically an office, but she only ever does art in it.

Once the invitation is tucked into the back of his sketchpad, he draws the courtyard the room overlooks. Over the course of the period, he hears the words, “Good, try this to make that look better, would you like to redo that, it’s passable,” be uttered to from the mouth of a famous artist to the ears of eager babes. Nothing special, that is until he catches Galadriel saying, “How are you in this class?”

This is essentially as AP as art can get, so for her to be asking that, it means that some other art instructor must have passed him up until now, but it seems to Bilbo that they tend to simply pass students based on effort. This is not going to end well. “I met all the requirements,” comes an all too familiar voice. Bilbo’s head snaps up to the bookshelf separating him from the rest of the world, and, for once, he hates its presence. Thorin hates art.

Galadriel scoffs, “You may have had the required courses, but you certainly didn’t have the required lessons.” Her voice is soft, as that would otherwise be even more mortifying, “I specifically chose who would be in my class based on prior knowledge of the student and their work. How did you get in my class?”

Thorin clears his throat, “I talked to your son,” he has the decency to sound very apologetic for it. Galadriel does not like being played, least of all by her son.

Galadriel keeps her voice low, “Why not simply come to me with a request?”

Thorin sheepishly admits, “You’re kind of terrifying when you want to be.”

Bilbo stifled a laugh. That was an understatement. That was a _gross_ understatement. Galadriel could make a grown man piss himself with a single look, he doesn’t blame Thorin for going to Mr. Weaving. “Thank you,” she replies warmly, “but flattery will get you nowhere.” She stops to think for a moment before offering, “I’m going to make a proposition. You tell me why you wanted to be in _my_ class, and I make myself available for lessons every other day after your rugby practices, Thorin.”

Thorin thinks it over, “Will I be removed from your class if I refuse?”

Galadriel’s reply is immediate, “Yes.”

Bilbo bites his lips to keep from laughing as Thorin sighs before muttering his answer. Galadriel makes a cooing sound, then tells him, “All right. I’ll be here until 20:00 today, Thursday, and next Monday. We’ll regularly meet Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, even on half days.”

“Thank you, Galadriel. I won’t disappoint you.” Bilbo can picture the curt nod that accompanies the declaration. _Wait! Why is he in the class?!_ Bilbo wants so desperately to catch Thorin on his way back to his seat, but Bilbo can’t see where he’s sitting, and he doesn’t feel like going out blind. 

At the end of class, Bilbo waits at his desk just long enough for most of the kids to have filed out before he makes for his locker. He sees Bard leaning against it looking around for him with his arms crossed and the backpack on. Bilbo looks down at his clothes and then back at the locker, _Is running in jeans really so bad that I would face Bard to get my gym clothes?_ The answer turns out to be no.

He weaves his way through the crowds effortlessly in an attempt to be the first one into the locker room. He opens the combination lock on his locker, both are the same as they were last year, and places his sketchbook inside with his pencils. He debates the button down, ultimately taking it off. On his way out he hears Thorin talking with Dwalin and Balin. _Crap. How many classes do I have with him?_

Bilbo ducks into a stall as they enter. He sits down pulling his legs up. “Are you excited for tryouts,” Thorin asks. He must be talking to Balin,

Balin replies a little hesitantly, “I suppose so.”

“Scared you might not actually make it on the team,” teases Dwalin.

_Wait, how is there a frosh in our gym class? He should be on his way to health._ Thorin grunts, “As I recall, you didn’t make it the first time you tried out. Now leave him be, he’s already going to have to run to get to his class in time.” Balin mutters a curse on his way out of the locker room. 

Bilbo tucks his legs underneath himself so he’s crouched on the lid and leans to see through the crack where the remaining two are. They have their backs to him. Now’s his chance. Bilbo stealthily exits the stall and slips away unnoticed. He leans against the wall and watches as boys and girls make their way into their respective locker rooms. Once everyone is out and meandering in the hall, he takes inventory of who he knows.

There’s Dwalin and Thorin, obviously, but there’s also Prim, thank goodness, and there seems to be another of the company: Bofur. He looks like he’s getting annoyed by the stocky ginger with an obscene amount of facial hair who keeps saying things and crowding into his space in a challenging way. Bilbo had never had problems with Gimli, but he also wasn’t his biggest fan as he had a reputation for playing rough. Bilbo makes his way over to them without drawing attention to himself from anyone, not even Prim. He listens for a few seconds before deciding that he’s heard enough; every word he’d heard had been derogatory and profane. He steps in between the two and is uncomfortable with how close he is to Gimli as he looks up into his dark eyes, “That’s really quite enough of that.” He manages to keep his voice firm, and it seems to be just as shocking to Gimli as it is to Bilbo.

Bofur moves around to Bilbo’s side. “He’s just being an annoying twit, he’s like this all the time. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I put up with being his friend.” Gimli just shrugs at the explanation. 

Bilbo’s face reddens, he rubs the back of his neck, “Oh, sorry. I thought…” he trails off because it’s pretty obvious what he thought.

Bofur gives him a huge smile that could rival Prim’s, “And it is greatly appreciated.” He extends his hand, “Bofur, at your service.”

Bilbo looks at the hand like it might bite him. He shakes it quickly, “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”

Bilbo is too busy being swept up in a conversation with Bofur that he doesn’t notice Thorin and Dwalin. Thorin stops mid-sentence with his closest friend when he sees Bilbo take Bofur’s hand. When Thorin had tried to introduce himself with a handshake, Bilbo had declined, respectfully and kindly, but declined nonetheless. _So why is he shaking Bofur’s hand? What did he say when he stepped in between Gimli and Bofur? What is going on?_

Thorin doesn’t have long to think about Bilbo before Sauron, the gym teacher from Hell, enters the hallway shouting, “All right, you pansies, line up in alphabetical order!” Everyone sighs, but they go along with it. Unsurprisingly, Prim stands beside her brother, and just one person down is Thorin, then a little bit further is Dwalin, Gimli, and Bofur. Sauron goes through attendance not really giving a damn whether the students are present and dressed. Once that’s done with, he takes them out to the football field and blows his whistle unnecessarily, “Haul ass to that goal,” he points to the one closest to them, “If you’re a one. If you’re a two, you better run like hell to get to the other end of the field and get a penny on.” Bilbo is the first person on the attendance list, and he’s a one. Prim’s a two, Thorin’s a two, Gimli’s a one, Dwalin is a two, and Bofur is a one. 

Sauron then moves to the center of the field, and no one is rushing to be a midfielder. Bilbo doesn’t know anyone on his team aside from Bofur and Gimli, but that’s just fine considering Bofur seems to know everyone. He places Gimli on offense with a boy that Bilbo recognizes to be part of the Company, but he doesn’t know his name and a girl with an impressive scowl fixed on the other team’s goal. Bofur takes defense with two girls, and the goalkeeper is a boy Bilbo’s never met before. Bilbo is playing midfield with two other boys and a girl. Bilbo scans the other team’s positions while he takes his place before Sauron and the ball: Prim is midfield and stepping up across from him, Thorin is to her right, and Dwalin is on defense. Bilbo smiles at Prim while Sauron shouts, “Heads or tails?!” Prim calls heads; it’s tails. 

Bilbo takes a deep breath through his nose as Prim backs out of the way, _She’s slow on her left, but you’re bad on your right, so avoid Prim._ He looks at Prim and sees that she’s watching him, knowing him and his weaknesses. He narrows his eyes kicking the ball backward to Bofur. Prim gapes for half a second before she’s off. Thorin goes after the ball at the same time as Prim and when Bofur tries to run from Thorin, Prim slides between his legs kicking the ball to an offensive player. Bilbo sees Prim’s play and jumps over her to get ahead of the ball. He stops the ball, kicks it up in the air, knees it higher, and then spins around while it’s in the air so he can blast it down field before it lands. The ball sails through the air bouncing off the head of an opposing player hard enough to knock them back but not down. Gimli chases down the ball and fights Dwalin for it. Bilbo runs along side Prim and Thorin to get to the ball, jumping over Prim when she slides in front of him to try and trip him up as well as get the ball away from the skirmishing cousins. He lands right in front of Dwalin and takes a kick to the shin allowing Gimli to get the ball away. 

Thorin steals the ball almost as soon as Gimli’s out in the open running it back toward team one’s goal. He boots it at the halfway point before Bofur can reach him. The goalkeeper narrowly catches the ball, then he drop kicks it all the way to team two’s goal post where it ricochets catching Gimli in the face. He doesn’t stop moving and is careful not to touch the ball with his hands as it falls to the ground, he sends it flying into the goal. Dwalin curses to which Sauron retorts, “You wouldn’t have anything to bitch about if you protected the goal!” Dwalin grumbles as the ball is returned by his goalkeeper to midfield. Prim makes off with it, but collides with Bofur at the defense. Bofur kicks it out between her legs to Bilbo who only just barely avoids slamming right into Thorin when he turns around. He ducks around him, keeps the ball moving, and it looks like he’s in the clear. _Wait...where’d-_ Dwalin barrels into him with a grunt knocking him to the ground before running off and putting all his might into kicking it into the goal across the field. It slams into the goalkeeper’s chest and then bounces off into the goal. 

Bilbo’s up and off the ground running to the ball as it’s sent back into the game. He jumps up letting it bounce on his chest, then steers it back to the goal. Thorin comes up behind him brushing shoulders so Bilbo’s spun a little away from the ball. He uses Bilbo’s disorientation to get the ball back to Prim who is exactly where she needs to be. She might hate him, but she’s not going to sabotage their team out of spite. She spins out of the way of two defensive players, jabbing her elbow into Bofur’s ribs on her way by. She kicks the ball so it bounces off the goalie’s face before catching it on the rebound sending it into the net with a triumphant grin. The ball goes sailing back to Dwalin’s area of the field, but unlike before, Bilbo’s there to get it into the net. Bilbo chases the ball to the goal and just as he is about to take his shot, Dwalin slams him to the ground as another of his teammates is running toward them and his foot connects with Bilbo’s head.


	12. Fuck! I Accidentally Killed Bilbo!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where Prim finds out what's what and hits people a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been way too long since I updated, and I apologize. However, I hope to make up for that by updating several more times over the weekend. The AP Struggle is a real struggle.

“Oh, shit!” Dwalin is torn between kneeling down beside Bilbo to make sure he’s alive and running in the opposite direction for his life. He sees Prim, Bofur, and Thorin all running up to them, _Fuck! I accidentally killed Bilbo! Prim is going to murder me._ He walks around Bilbo and holds out his hands in a placating manner, “I’m so sor-” Prim kicks him in the balls so hard he squeals like a little girl as he falls to the ground holding his junk.

Prim crouches down by Bilbo as Thorin and Bofur get to them, “C’mon, Billy,” she whispers as she pats his face, “You’re fine,” she breathes out pleadingly. She tries not to look at the blood coming from his forehead. Thankfully, Thorin is stripping off his penny using it like a sponge. _Dammit, Bilbo Baggins, I am going to kill you if you don’t wake up right now._

She scowls at him, in a moment of frustration she slaps his face hard enough to make her hand sting, “Shit!” 

Bilbo grunts as he rubs his face gently, “Who hit me?”

Prim word vomits, “Dwalin!”

Dwalin groans from the ground a few feet away where he’s still holding his bruised balls. Bilbo chuckles, “Liar.”

Thorin sighs in relief the moment he sees hears Bilbo’s voice and he has to look at his eyes. When Bilbo finally opens his eyes, he sees Thorin’s deep blue eyes trained on his own. He’s surprised when he finds he doesn’t want to brush his hand along Thorin’s stubble or cup his cheek. He also doesn’t want to punch him, so that’s good too. Bilbo blinks a few times before making himself sit up. Thorin’s worried voice comes from beside him, “Don’t move too fast, you could have a concussion.”

Sauron calls from his spot on the sidelines, “Walk it off on your way to the nurse’s station,” he mutters the last part under his breath, “Last thing I need is another lawsuit for making children keep going when they were ‘unfit’ and ‘endangered’ by the activities.”

Thorin and Prim are both about to volunteer to walk with him to the nurse’s station when Bofur swoops in, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Thorin’s face reddens when Bilbo stands up to leave with Bofur. _What is going on?_

Prim smirks nastily at Thorin as Bilbo walks with Bofur in the direction of the school. “What’s the matter, Wood Chuck,” so she may or may not be stealing and modifying Bard’s nickname, “did your thunder get stolen?”

Thorin sighs, but turns away to brood almost instantly. _Cheese and rice! Bilbo wasn’t exaggerating when he said he broods a lot. He must be a real downer at parties._ She beams at the thought that just came to her, _Speaking of parties…_ she turns to watch her brother walk and talk his way into the building with Bofur, _My brother’s turning eighteen in two weeks._ She feels a deliciously evil grin spread at the prospect. 

The rest of the class period is a waste of time as Sauron just has them sit around and do whatever the flip they please. Prim, predictably, spends her time glaring at Thorin, who is in turn pouting, and Gimli is playing a game on his phone. _Where did he even have that?_ Prim shakes the thought off as she returns her full attention to glaring. She hates Thorin Wood Chuck Durin. He can go jump off a bridge for all she cares. Or that’s how she wants to feel, at least. It would really be so much easier to despise him if she just knew what happened! 

She angrily plucks grass out of the field beside her as she continues glaring conetmplatively at the young man before her. Bilbo hadn’t seemed like he’d been hit, and he wasn’t displaying any signs of being attacked, so it must have been something more emotional than physical. _But that would have had to have been one hell of a thing to do if it made Bilbo actually go home early._ She grunts as she rips up a large handful of grass that brings up a chunk of the ground. _Cheese and rice!_ She pats the dirt back into place hoping Sauron didn’t notice. The last time someone messed up his field, he had them in detention every day for a month.

Thankfully, her actions went unnoticed by the terrifying man, but Thorin had noticed. She flips him off, then goes back to plucking grass being careful not to grab too much at once. She looks over at Thorin to find him still pouting like a child. _Fuck all,_ she thinks in a moment of unfathomable frustration. “What’s the worst thing that can happen from having a little chat with him?” She wonders aloud.

She picks up a pebble nearby and chucks it at him so it hits him squarely in the shoulder. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the throw until she tilts her chin up to beckon him over. _What is she doing?_ Thorin walks over to her swiftly and purposefully, “What do you need?”

Prim is taken aback by the question. If she got hit with a rock she’d be asking what the fuck the person wanted and then beat them over the head, but he’s just standing resolutely before her with his hands folded behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders. _It must be the guilt,_ she figures. “Sit,” she cooly commands. Once he seats himself beside her, she runs a hand through her hair in thought, something that she picked up from Bilbo, “You’re going to answer all of my questions that Bilbo’s been dodging,” she narrows her eyes at him, “and if you lie, I will kill your family one by one until it’s just you, and then I will torture you for so long that you will be begging for death. Then I will paralyze you, feed you and water you, and just slowly wait until your body begins shutting down from inactivity and infection from your bed sores.”

Thorin feels his heart stop in terror at the look in her eyes. He nods silently as he struggles to find his words. “What...what do you wish to know?”

Prim shrugs casually, “You know, I’m not really sure where to begin with my list of questions, so I’ll just let you tell me all about it. You’re going to tell me every detail of your trip to London that you can remember, and then you’re going to tell me what the Hell that hush money was for.”

Thorin nods silently. He takes a few moments to think of where to begin, then he tells her all about the Proms and the events that unfolded. At this point, she knows more about his activities in London than Bilbo. He’s still explaining himself after class has ended and they’ve changed out of their gym clothes. He talks to her about it until the Burke’s normal dinner time has come and gone. When he finishes his tale, they’re sitting at the top of the bleachers of the rugby field. “And that’s what the money was for. It wasn’t to keep him silent,” he glowers at the very idea of it, “If anything, I’d have him tell the world.”

Prim thinks on this for a long moment, then she cuffs him upside the back of his head, “The Hell is wrong with you?!” She stands up to smack him in the face when he opens his mouth, “No! Listen up!” She throws her finger in his face, and Thorin is taken back to the cab ride to the airport with Bilbo, “ _You_ approached my brother, _my baby brother,_ and you just blew him away! You and whatever it is you did to him with that Durin charm,” she waves her hand dismissively at his torso, “and you made him…” she has to stop because she’s so furious she can’t even think.

She huffs and puffs like the big bad wolf before tearing into him again, “You were getting through,” she bitterly tells him, “You were making him feel like he could actually be happy some day, and then you just,” she grunts throwing her hands up, “You just fucked it all up!” Thorin doesn’t argue, so she slaps him again, “The Hell, why are you not trying to fix it? Why are you not arguing with me?” She fixes him with a withering stare as she puts a hand on her hip, “Do you not think my brother is good enough?” She asks in a very low and dangerous tone.

Thorin shoots up with an explosive fire in his eye, “That is not even close to being the case!” He doesn’t mean to, but he looms over her, “I’m doing my best to make it up to Bilbo, and I will spend the rest of my life doing so! I’m not trying to fix our relationship because…” the fire leaves his eyes, “because I’m not,” Prim punches his jaw hard enough to make him take a step back from the force. 

She shakes her hand shortly before balling it up and holding it at her hip just in case she needs to hit him again, “I swear, if I hear another guy tell me he’s ‘unworthy’ of affection, I will nuke the entire world in an attempt to wipe out all but ten thousand men.” She’s not going to wipe out _all_ the men because then there’d be no human race. _Well, hold on now. With the current stock of sperm in banks, the human race could survive if they kept the sperm created by the new men before they were killed. Of course, nuking the planet wouldn’t be a viable option-Why am I thinking about this?!_

Thorin looks up at her like a kicked puppy, “What do you mean? Bilbo can’t possibly,” she waves him off, “He does! He blames himself,” she rakes a hand through her hair. “Just...If you still care about him, you should try.” She can’t believe she’s saying this. She must have lost her mind.

Thorin seems to agree with that statement as he asks, “Did I just hear you right?”

She rolls her eyes, “Yes. Yes, you did. Now, keeping in mind that I will kill you in the manner previously specified if you ever hurt my brother again, get up off your ass and win him back.”


	13. Nothing Holding You Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Bofur making plans for lunch, Thorin gets help with his drawing, and Galadriel tries to play Cupid.

The school nurse sent Bilbo off with a clean bill of health after cleaning and disinfecting the gash along his forehead. The entire time, Bofur had been cracking jokes and trying to keep Bilbo’s attention off of the possibility of having a concussion. Bilbo found it rather sweet, but also a tad unnecessary, it’s not as though Bilbo’s never been hurt before. After they finished there, they’d gone back to the locker room and gotten their things. “So when are your rugby tryouts?”

Bofur chuckles, “Not for a few more months now. Conditioning starts in January, the season in February. Why?”

Bilbo blushes at his ignorance, _With the way Thorin talks about it, you’d think they were just around the corner._ “I just have a friend who’s really into rugby I guess. They talk about try outs like they’re coming up in a couple of days.”

Bofur nods thoughtfully before very suddenly switching gears, “So, I have a question that may seem a bit...odd,” says Bofur with a sheepish grin.

Bilbo skews an eyebrow, “Okay,” he hesitantly responds.

“Are you dating Thorin?” 

_Not currently,_ “No, I’m not. Why?” Bofur nods, not at all surprised to see that Bilbo isn’t shocked that Thorin’s gay. 

Bofur shrugs, “It’s just that if you were, then I would feel weird about asking you to Strider’s this Saturday.”

_Why would he feel weird asking me to hang out with him? He’s one of Thorin’s closest friends._ “Well, you don’t have any reason to feel weird about it. I’ll see you there at noon?” _Was that too presumptuous? What if he has plans at noon? What if he’s dating someone and they want to hang out with him Saturday? Crap._

Before Bilbo can backtrack, Bofur excitedly nods, “Noon it is.”

They exchange smiles before Bilbo nods to Galadriel’s studio, “This is me.”

Bofur asks hopefully, “Are you sure? I mean, the school day isn’t over yet.”

Bilbo lets out a small laugh as he checks the time on his phone, “You’re right, there’s still one whole minute to the day.”

Bofur shrugs with a single shoulder, “Lot can happen in a minute.”

Bilbo scoffs, “Like what?” 

Bofur shrugs again, and Bilbo can’t decide if it’s charming or annoying, “Anything.”

Bilbo shakes his head as the bell rings, “So much for anything. See you later.”

Bofur waves as the halls fill with students, “See ya.”

Galadriel is standing at a small fountain without a spout so the water just sits there serenely. Sometimes when Bilbo comes in, she’s pouring water into it, this time, however, she’s just standing there looking at it. “Hello, Bilbo,” she hasn’t looked up from the pool of water, “you’re early.”

Bilbo smiles at her even though she isn’t looking, “I was already out of class, so I figured why not just show up.”

Galadriel lets her lips lift in the beginnings of a playful smile, “And what were you doing out of class?” There’s a lilt there that shows she’s pleased, “Not skipping, I’m sure.”

Bilbo snorts, “Oh, yes. Getting kicked in the head was all part of an elaborate plan to skip half of my gym class.”

Galadriel’s eyes dart up momentarily at the mention of being kicked, but she returns to the pool of water after rationalizing that they wouldn’t have let him go if he’d had a concussion, “As you know, I like to mentor some of my students personally.”

Bilbo wanders over to her latest sculpture because it’s covered, and Bilbo doesn’t think he’s ever seen any of her work covered before, “Yeah, but…” understanding dawns on him, “you want to mentor me?”

Galadriel giggles at the idea, “No, no, my dear. You already know all I can offer. I would like your help with the student I’ve chosen to take under wing.”

His hand freezes mere inches from the fabric covering the piece, “You want me to help you teach Thorin?”

“I see there’s more than reason to like sitting hidden away,” her lips are now spread in a cheshire grin.

“Wh-I-no! No, that’s not it at all. I didn’t mean to listen, I just,” she prevents him from babbling any more with a warm laugh, “It’s always so fun to speak with you, Bilbo. Can I count on you to be here at the specified times?”

Bilbo chews his lips as he takes the sheet in hand, “Could I do so on a condition?”

Her reply comes easily, “I don’t see why not.”

He swallows nervously, _I’d like to know why Thorin requested your class._ He shakes his head to clear out the invasive thought. He’s not going to snoop, no matter how curious he is. He drops the cloth, and Galadriel looks up at him with a knowing smile that he can’t see before looking back to the fountain, “Could I do some homework while Thorin is working?”

Galadriel is about to answer when Gandalf walks into the room, clearly distraught. “My lady, Galadriel,” Bilbo stops breathing as his face burns up. This is clearly the start of something prying eyes would not be welcome to. _Maybe it has something to do with why he was acting so odd in first hour._ “I-” he stops when he sees Bilbo and his face becomes an unreadable mask, “I didn’t know you were busy.”

Galadriel returns her attention to Bilbo as though she’d forgotten he was there in the brief instance between Gandalf entering and now. _Definitely not something I need to be here for,_ “I’ll just come back when Thorin gets here.” He rushes out of the room with no grace at all, even managing to stub his toe on a table housing several open bottles of paint. 

Bilbo heads to the library where he waits patiently with his nose buried in a book of William Blake poetry. He’s only read one poem by Blake, and he only plans on reading that same one. He reads it over and over again, trying to glean some hidden knowledge from it with each read through. He doesn’t gain any new insights every time, but he does get a new perspective. He’s been able to recite the poem since he was eleven. It was the last thing his mother ever said to him.

_Tyger Tyger, burning bright,_  
In the forests of the night;   
What immortal hand or eye,   
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

_In what distant deeps or skies._  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand, dare seize the fire? 

_And what shoulder, & what art,_  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
And when thy heart began to beat,  
What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

_What the hammer? what the chain,_  
In what furnace was thy brain?  
What the anvil? what dread grasp,   
Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

_When the stars threw down their spears_  
And water'd heaven with their tears:   
Did he smile his work to see?  
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

_Tyger Tyger burning bright,_  
In the forests of the night:   
What immortal hand or eye,  
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

He’s never understood why this poem was the one she read to him, but he hopes to. Some day. For now, though, he’ll just have to settle with trying to figure out what it means to him, because if he can’t figure that out, there’s no way he’ll be able to figure out what it meant to Izzy. His phone buzzes in his pocket, he’s got to lean back to pull it free. He sees the words, “He’s here,” before the message fades. With a sigh, he returns the book to its original spot, pushes in his chair, and heads back to the studio. Galadriel is talking with Thorin about the properties of lighting and how intense the shadows should be. He stands there for a moment, not really sure what to do, then clears his throat. It doesn’t seem to get their attention. He clears his throat again to no avail. _Fantastic._ He clears his throat obnoxiously loud as they turn to look at him. 

He quickly morphs it into a cough, and Thorin’s eyes go wide at the intensity of it. “Are you alright?” He’s already standing up, but he remembers his place and sits back down resignedly. 

Bilbo tapers it off as he nods, “Yeah, just parched.”

Galadriel nods to the desk behind him, “There should be some soda bottles in the mini-fridge.”

Bilbo gets an orange soda uncapping with mild difficulty that makes Thorin get that dopey look back. Galadriel smiles to herself, _This is going to be easier than I thought._ “Well, I suppose introductions aren’t necessary, so, Bilbo, why don’t you tell us about your day?”

Bilbo’s brows shoot up to the sky as he takes a seat on a the only stool since it seems to be where he’s meant to be. Galadriel is standing beside Thorin, who is at an easel just a few feet away. Bilbo chews his lips, “Um, it was fine? I’m not quite sure I understand what’s going on here. I thought I was here to help.”

Galadriel nods with a smile that is starting to concern Bilbo, “You are. Now, how did your day start?” As Bilbo goes through his day, slowly draining his glass bottle of its soda, Thorin is drawing with Galadriel intervening to change the pressure being applied or provide pointers on how to improve upon the drawing. 

Bilbo makes it to the end of his day having omitted the trip to the bathroom, giving Bard the bag, and making plans with Bofur. “Now what?”

“Now,” Galadriel walks over to Bilbo, “are you done with the bottle?” Bilbo nods cautiously, “Let me take that.” Bilbo gives her the bottle, “Now, you can tell us about your plans for the weekend.”

He simply states, “I’m just going to be doing what I always do on the weekends.”

Galadriel disposes of the bottle, “And what is that?”

Thorin answers absently, “Spending time with Prim and Bard. Saturday will likely be gardening for the most of the day, then Bard will arrive and stay the night.”

Galadriel is caught off guard by the admission, but perhaps she shouldn’t be. She moves on before Bilbo can say anything, “Bilbo, could you tell us about your time in America? I’ve always meant to go, but I just never seemed to find the time.”

Bilbo shifts uneasily on his stool, “I’m sure Gandalf’s seen more of it than I have.”

Galadriel clicks her tongue, “Nonsense. He’s only been on university campuses and in classrooms. I want to know about the cities.”

Bilbo’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t refuse. “I, um, I can’t really remember much of it,” _More like I don’t let myself._

Thorin pipes up from behind the easel, “I thought you said you could quote conversations you had years ago.”

Bilbo silently curses having let that slip to Thorin on one of their dates, “Well, then you must just be shy about it,” Galadriel glides back to Thorin to check on his progress, “How about if Thorin tells you something about a place he’s been to, hm?”

Thorin glances at her with no sense of confidence in this plan, “I’ve gone to England, Wales, Ireland, Australia, Indonesia, Japan, China, America, Canada, France, and Italy. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Galadriel isn’t fazed by the multitude of countries, “America. What cities have you seen?”

Thorin pauses to think, “I’ve been to San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Chicago, and Washington D.C.”

Galadriel nods considerately, “Tell me about Chicago.”

For the next few minutes Bilbo gets lost in the sound of Thorin’s voice as he laments his time in the windy city and he feels his chest start to feel...odd. Of course, the Chicago Thorin knew is vastly different than the one Bilbo had met, but he could still see some of it now. Galadriel offers a fond glance between the two of them, “That sounds absolutely wonderful. Bilbo, have you ever been to Chicago?”

_Lie._ “Yes,” _LIE!_ “but I was just passing through.” _There._

Galadriel grasps at the information, “Where were you headed?”

“To Hell,” at the confused expression shared by Galadriel and Thorin, he explains, “It’s a city in Michigan.”

Galadriel makes a thoughtful sound, “Interesting. How did you enjoy your time in Hell?”

Bilbo doesn’t even bother to pretend like he’s thinking about his time there, “It was fine.”

Thorin grumbles something at the use of the word “fine,” but otherwise remains silent. Bilbo glazes over his time in Hell and combines several stories so that he can make his time there seem brief. The longer the story, the longer he thinks about his parents, and the longer he thinks of his parents as they were, the longer he’ll have to miss them. He shifts focus off of himself, “What did professor Grey come in for?”

Galadriel is clearly caught by surprise with the topic shift, “He just wanted to talk about his day.”

“Does he talk about his day often?”

Galadriel readjusts the trajectory of the conversation, “Not too often, no.” She turns to Thorin, “Are you going to be doing anything with rugby during the off season?”

Thorin gives an affirmative grunt, “I’m going to be scrimmages with my friends, jogging, boxing, lifting, and swimming.”

Galadriel turns back to Bilbo, “Perhaps you two could run together. I hear it’s often easier to push yourself farther if you’re running with a friend.”

Thorin looks to Bilbo signalling that it’s up to him, but Bilbo doesn’t notice as he’s already shooting that down with extreme prejudice, “I prefer to run on my own.” _It’s better to run alone because then I’m not dragging anyone down or pushing them past what they can normally handle._

Thorin only appears hurt for a moment, “It’s really more of a solo sport anyway.”

Galadriel frowns slightly, _Maybe this won’t be so easy as I thought._ “So, Thorin, what are your plans for the weekend?”

Thorin flippantly replies, “Probably just staying in shape for rugby, maybe going to my sister’s.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend to take out?”

Bilbo hides his interest behind indifference as Thorin sputters, “Um, we-no. N-not really.”

“A dashing young man like yourself can’t possibly be single by lack of demand. Are you simply not interested in dating?”

Thorin blushes uncomfortably, “Well...no. Not exactly, it’s just...complicated. I guess.”

Galadriel pushes, “So you do like someone?”

Thorin sighs, “...Yes? Bilbo, do you have a girlfriend?”

Galadriel sighs as the subject shifts. Bilbo vollies the conversation back to him expertly, “No, and I don’t have an interest to find one.”

Galadriel turns back to Thorin, “Does she know?”

Thorin opens his mouth a few times like a fish gasping for air, Bilbo nearly bursts into laughter at his helplessness, “I-um-uh-yes? Maybe. I don’t know.”

_Oh._ Bilbo gives his fake smile, “Then you should go for it. Whoever the lucky girl is, she’d be stupid not to say yes to you. You’re Thorin Oakenshield Durin the third. You can have whoever you want.”

Thorin feels hopeful as he draws close to finishing his drawing, “I don’t think my name matters much. I get the feeling it never has to them.”

Not wanting to hear anything about Thorin’s new muse, Bilbo checks his phone, “It’s 20:00. I’ve gotta go, dinner starts in half an hour. I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he collects his things hurriedly. On his way out of the studio he stops to call over his shoulder,   
“And, Thorin, it’s good to see you getting out there. You should go for it. If she doesn’t care about your name, then there’s nothing holding you back.”


	14. Pink Really Isn't Your Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Bilbo aren't in the best place, but Bilbo's got something to look forward to in the lunch with Bofur. It is cute, not adorable. What Bilbo comes home to, however, is not. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is named with the final word of the chapter. There will be a reckoning at some point. No one will like it.

The rest of the week was far less eventful compared to the first day, but it was still exciting. Particularly the, erm, _conversation_ that was born of Bard taking the backpack. Let’s just say it’s a good thing no one lives near the greenhouse. They haven’t spoken since, but given what was said, neither of them particularly mind. So, maybe Bilbo minds. A little. He puts the picture of Bard back in his box without thinking about it too much more. _Nothing and no one is permanent,_ he reminds himself. He won’t light it just yet, but in a few weeks, it’ll be time. Bilbo checks his phone, he’s got just enough time to walk to Strider’s. He’s on his way out when he hears Bard’s truck. He sighs on his way down the path, the truck slowing down beside him, “How’s it been?”

Bard reaches over to grab the pack, “I came here to give this back to you. See if we couldn’t just forget about this mess and just go back to normal.”

Bilbo keeps his face impassive, “Keep the money.”

Bard shakes his head, “I’m not going to do that.”

With a sigh, Bilbo turns in the direction of Strider’s, “Have you told your parents about it? Have you even thought of what it could do for you or your family? You can’t just say no out of pride. I gave you that money as your friend, and even if it’s what drives us apart, I’ll still make sure that money goes to use. I’ve got to be somewhere. Whether you end up leaving the money with me, or going home to find it there before you, that’s your choice.”

Bard throws the money back in the passenger seat, “Why won’t you just take the money back?!”

“Why won’t you just accept it as what it is? A gift.”

Bard hits the steering wheel, “It’s too much to be a gift.”

Bilbo shakes his head, “Whatever. Just give me the money then. I’ll give it to some tweaker. They’ll put it to excellent use, I’m sure.”

Bard practically growls, “What is it with you?!”

Bilbo rolls his eyes, “You’re my friend. I want to give this to your family. If you don’t want that for your family because of your pride, you can jump in a lake.” Bard stops his truck while Bilbo keeps walking. 

Bilbo shows up to Strider’s earlier than he thought, but Bofur’s already there sitting in a booth near the back. “Hey,” he excitedly stands to greet Bilbo, “You look nice.”

Bilbo looks down at himself; he’s wearing his black button down buttoned to his clavicle, a black tee shirt, his leather strings replaced by two large leather cuffs, leather sneakers, and his pants are skinny jeans, “Thanks, but, um, I’m not really dressed that different from how I look at school.” He looks to Bofur quickly examining his very nice looking blue button down, black slacks, and dress shoes. “But you look good.”

He takes his seat looking at the menu, not noticing Bofur’s blush, “Well, you look good, regardless of what you think,” his smile is broad and genuine, “Have you ever eaten here?”

Bilbo pauses in his perusal of the rather nicely drawn up menu. Strider’s is quite possibly the most frequently visited food joint by the average, the poverty stricken, and the wealthy of Middleton. It’s not like Bilbo can admit he’s never _eaten_ here. but he has always hated lying to his friends if it wasn’t something important. “I come here a lot.” Not a lie. He and Bard come here every Saturday night to the walk-up as a means of getting dinner for them and Prim. 

Bofur’s smile turns into a confused grin, “I’ve never seen you in here.”

_Crap. Why can’t the Company hang out in fancy restaurants or something?_ “Well, I mean, um, I come here with someone to get dinner. Sometimes.” 

Bofur’s eyebrows come together, “I thought you weren’t attached to anyone.”

Bilbo hastily confirms, “I’m not, I just…” he sighs because he’s not going to dump Bard on Bofur the first time they hang out, “I usually have a movie night on Saturdays with my sister, and we eat food from the walk-up.” _Not a lie. An omission._

Bofur’s smile brightens again as he waves for a server to come over. _Oh, jeez!_ Bilbo scans the menu for something to eat. _What do Prim and Bard always get? Come, on. Um...a veggie burger with chilli cheese fries for Prim, and a hotdog with everything on it and onion rings for Bard. Not exactly appetizing._ He looks up finding that they’re waiting on him, “A grilled cheese.” _Do they even serve those?! I’m caught for sure! How do I explain this?_ To his surprise, the server nods, scribbles it down, and disappears. _Thank goodness._

Bofur looks even more surprised than Bilbo feels, “I can’t believe he let you order off menu,” he’s whispering excitedly, “that’s _never_ happened before.”

Bilbo shrugs, “It’s just a grilled cheese.”

Bofur scoffs, amazed grin still firmly in place, “What are you talking about?! _Just_ a grilled cheese? That, my friend, is the only item of food that’s ever been ordered off the menu and accepted _in the history_ of Strider’s!” He leans back in the booth, “You’ve got to tell me how you managed that.”

Bilbo shrugs unable to hide the blush creeping up his neck into his cheeks, “I don’t know, I just asked for it.”

Bofur shakes his head in disbelief, “I’ll make a scene. I’ll make a big deal about the grilled cheese if you don’t tell me. I know you’re shy.”

Bilbo grunts, “You wouldn’t.”

Bofur chuckles, “Oh, I will.”

Bilbo looks around frantically, “I don’t know, okay, I just, I just ordered! I didn’t do anything special. If it’s as a favor, I don’t know why I would be deserving of one.”

Bofur puts his hands up in front of him, “Chill out. I’m just messing with you. I’m not gonna tell anyone, but it is a pretty big deal.” He snaps his fingers, “Maybe they’ll take your picture or something.”

Bilbo groans putting his head down on the table temporarily, “If they do, promise to get in the way or something.”

Bofur hooks a brow, “You want me to photobomb?”

Bilbo’s head snaps up as he hisses, “No! No! Oh, my goodness. Why would you even ask about firebombing this place?!”

Bofur bursts into a fit of light laughter, “Not _fire_ bomb, _photo_ bomb. It’s where someone gets into a picture they’re not supposed to appear in. Did you not know that?”

Bilbo shakes his head sheepishly, “No.” 

Bofur keeps laughing at his admittance of his ignorance, “That’s so cute.”

Bilbo blushes even more as the food arrives. Bilbo looks past the server catching the eye of the old man behind the counter. He’s not looking away, and Bilbo finds himself wondering oncer more why old people _always_ look at him like this at first. It’s as if they’ve never seen anything like him. 

They eat slowly, being interrupted by bouts of laughter and stories about the Company. When they finish with their food, they stay and chat for a half hour before Bofur tries to pay the bill. “I insist on paying, it’s only fair since I’m the one who asked you out.”  
Bilbo sighs when Bofur calls over their server, “Can I get the check?”

The server shakes his head, “On the house,” he holds out the two shakes in his hands, “These are for the road.” He nods at Bilbo, “Aragorn looks forward to seeing you tonight at the window.”

_That’s...odd._ “I look forward to seeing him too? I guess. Can you thank him for me?” The server nods before walking away.

Bofur leads the way out of Strider’s offering his cup, “To your connections.”

Bilbo hesitantly puts his cup to Bofur’s, “To Aragorn.”

Bofur amends his toast, “To Aragorn.”

They walk together to Bofur’s car, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to your house.”

Bilbo shakes his head, “Nah, I, um, I like to walk.”

Bofur shrugs, “Okay.” He turns in the general direction of Middleton, “Lead the way.”

Bilbo and Bofur talk the entire time about the fact that they got a free meal and Bilbo can apparently order off-menu. Bilbo takes a sip from his shake when he notices people gathering around the house across from his. _What is she up to now?_ “Hey, um, thanks for walking me home. You didn’t have to.”

Bofur gives a single shoulder shrug, “It was my pleasure. This was really nice.”

Bilbo gazes distractedly over Bofur’s shoulder as he steps up onto his porch, “Yeah,” he narrows his eyes at the young woman standing in the middle of the crowd, “We should do this again some time.”

Bofur beams, “Sure thing,” he turns away before jerking back around, “Almost forgot,” he gives Bilbo a peck on the cheek, “See you Monday.” He takes off with a bounce to his step leaving Bilbo to scramble with his door. He runs to the first floor bathroom and begins scrubbing his face vehemently. _I need to be clean,_ he keeps washing until he feels his face start to numb with the burn, _Why would he kiss me?!_ He huffs as he slams the faucet to turn it off, “Did he think it was a date?” _I thought we were just out, as friends, and...and...Oh, dear. I’m leading him on._ He smacks the wall, _I’m so stupid! But why did he think this was a date? Why would he want it to be a date?_ He groans scraping his nails over his scalp. “It doesn’t matter right now. I need to figure out what she’s up to now.”

He rushes back to the front door, pulls out his phone, and dials his sister’s number. He’ll call if he has to. He’s still got the last half of his shake in hand as he snakes his way through the crowd to see the young woman selling a few tables worth of things that look suspiciously like Prim’s things. He gives an obviously fake smile to the girl, “Can I talk to you?”

There’s no bad blood between the two, but there’s also nothing good between them either. She smiles just as falsely, “Sure,” the pair make their way to the garage, “What did you want to talk about, cousin?”  
He keeps his smile, “I was just wondering where you got all this stuff. It looks a lot like Prim’s.”

She looks at the items for sale as though for the first time, “You know, she actually sold these to me in July sometime. Said she needed cash. I thought for sure one of them would blow up or something, but they haven’t, so I figured it’d be safe to sell them.”  
Bilbo grits his teeth. _Prim sold this stuff to pay for our tickets?!_ He broadens his smile, “How much for all of it?” Bilbo’s been saving since he got home, and he did more around the neighborhood this week for his lunch with Bofur, which was apparently a...date? He doesn’t know, and right now he doesn’t rightly care.

She waves him off kindly, “You don’t want this stuff, besides, I could never take so much money from family.”

Bilbo shrugs casually, “Well, you gave that much money to family.”

She clicks her tongue, “Nope. I didn’t. I gave that money to a Brandybuck-Burke.”

Bilbo tightens his grip around the shake, “Come on, just let me buy this stuff back. I’ll even pay interest.”

She pretends to consider it before shaking her head, “I’ll give it all back to you, free of charge, if you can get her over here to ask for it back.” Her smile takes on a wicked twist, “She must have been really desperate to sell this stuff to me. I can’t imagine she’d be so desperate for it back that she would actually come over and ask. Then again, she is pathetic enough, I mean-” Bilbo throws off the lid, thrust the cup at her, and is moving in on her as the shake splatters all over her body. 

He seethes, “Don’t ever talk about my sister like that again, or the next thing you’ll be hit with isn’t a shake,” he doesn’t know where this anger is coming from, and later he’ll be horrified by it, but for now, he’s basking in it like warm sunshine, “Now, tell these nice people that the sale is over, and collect anything you’ve sold. I don’t care if you have to fly to Timbuktu to get it all back, but you will.” She nods hastily before taking a step toward the now silent crowd, he grabs her arm gently, “Oh, one more thing,” he looks her over taking pleasure in the strawberry shake staining her skin and clothes, “pink really isn’t your color, Lobelia.”


	15. G'Night, Ser Pounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard chapter! But, yeah, conflict resolution in their friend group is mostly just ignoring the problem once one of them figures out they were in the wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I'd say that you can count on more from me tonight when I have more time to post, but my internet's been super spotty lately, so I'm not going to. If there's more, than there's more, if there's not, I humbly apologize.

The knock is sharp and singular, not at all familiar to the Greenleaf family. Marren opens the door to find a dark haired boy dressed in an old tee shirt that has three buttons, some jeans with holes, and a pair of aviators. His stubble stops at the sides of his mouth making it seem somewhat immature, but it’s startlingly charming. He pulls out a lighter lifting it to the cigarette in his mouth. “I need to talk to your brother,” he says in a voice that is both dangerous and sexy. 

She sighs, _No wonder Thranduil doesn’t care if kids at school know about them. He’s got nothing to be ashamed of._ She nods curtly before closing the door, running up to Thranduil’s room, and walking in without knocking, “You’ve a guest.”

Thranduil doesn’t bother looking up, “I don’t recall inviting anyone over today.”

She leans against the doorframe, “He’s not the kind to wait for an invitation.”

Thranduil’s head raises in well hidden interest, “Oh?”

She rolls her eyes at his being coy, “Yes, oh, is right. He looks rather peeved though.”

Thranduil’s lips thin as he stands up, “What did you do??

She scoffs in mock offense, “ _I_ didn’t do anything.”

Thranduil swiftly brushes past his sister descending quickly to the front door where he huffs, _She didn’t even leave the door open._ He takes a moment to compose himself and brace for whatever Bard’s upset about before opening the door and stepping outside, “What’s wrong?”

Bard sneers, “Why does something have to be wrong? Can’t I just visit? You’re the one who said I had an open invitation.” He readjusts the pack slung over his shoulder absently drawing attention to it.

Thranduil keeps his face calm, but his voice lowers into a threatening register, “What’s happened?”

Bard looks at Thranduil considerately for a moment before realizing what he thought, “I told you, that stopped years ago with the drinking.” He ignores how warm the break in Thranduil’s stony facade makes him feel for now. “This,” he shucks off the pack, “Is yours.” He bites it out bitterly as he shoves the pack at Thranduil.

Thranduil doesn’t even take it, “That is not mine.”

Bard sighs angrily, “Don’t bother denying it! I know you gave that to Bilbo to give to me.”

Thranduil fractionally raises a perfectly groomed and unbelievably thick eyebrow, “I would not dare do such a thing.” He folds his hands behind his back, “You told me at the start of this that you did not want any financial aid as you are quote, ‘not my responsibility,’ and I have every intention of respecting both your wishes and _you_. I would not think to belittle either of those things by doing something so underhanded as use your best friend as a go between.”

Bard has the decency to blush in shame at having thought Thranduil would have done that. _But then where the Hell’d Bilbo get this much cash?_ Seeing that Thranduil is genuinely hurt by the assumption, not that he would let it show beyond his eyes, Bard runs a hand through Thranduil’s hair, “I’m sorry I even thought of you for a second when I got this. I just didn’t know how else Bilbo would’ve gotten this much money.”

Thranduil purs at the sensation of Bard’s hand on his head, “There’s no need to apologize,” he adds in a small, almost vulnerable, voice, “Though it is greatly appreciated.”

Bard kisses Thranduil, stopping only when the other’s hand comes to rest at the base of his neck to deepen the kiss. He smiles against Thranduil’s lips at the soft groan of complaint his actions elicit, “I’ve got someone to go see about $100,000.”

Thranduil smirks, “I’m sure we could talk about much more interesting things.”

Bard chuckles, “I know. We have,” he kisses Thranduil shortly, “and we will again.” Thranduil smiles broadly, “But not until Monday.” Thranduil groans once more. Bard messes up his boyfriend’s hair as he pulls away, “See ya in first hour!” He jogs back to his truck throwing the bag in through the open window. He climbs in waving at his boyfriend who simply nods at him with a small smile.

Ten minutes later, Bard’s cruising down Bilbo’s street just in time to see him throw a shake on Prim’s arch nemesis. He’s howling like a mad man as he pulls into the drive, “Oh, Prim’s going to hate that she missed this,” He turns around in his seat to watch Lobelia go around to people and start shoving money at them for items she just got done selling. Bard gets out of the truck with the money as well as his own pack, both on one shoulder, and goes through the open front door. He checks on Bilbo’s location to see if he should close the door or not, but Bilbo’s right behind him, “Are you here to yell some more?” Bilbo asks quietly.

Bard shakes his head, then heads up to the room that was set aside for him years ago. He throws both bags into the room, then closes the door, “What was that?”

Bilbo looks at him uncertainly, then down at his empty cup from Strider’s, “Lobelia was selling the stuff Prim sold her. I put a stop to that. You wanna help me move the stuff back across?” He makes it sound like a cross between a warning and a test.

Bard nods simply, then walks to the door, “She’s got boxes?”

Bilbo nods with a small smile, so Bard knows it’s real, “Yeah.”

The pair walk over to Lobelia’s garage sale and start packing up without saying anything to each other or Lobelia. Once they have everything in boxes, they stack them up and carry them all over to Bilbo’s, “Thanks for helping.”

Bard lets out a single laugh, “Sure thing. That was really bad ass, though. I can’t believe you dumped a shake on her.”

Bilbo frowns, “I wasn’t being a bad ass when I did that, I was just being an ass.” 

Bard sighs irritably, “Don’t be a sissy.”

Bilbo glares as he follows Bard up to Prim’s room, “I’m not being a sissy, I just don’t like that I embarrassed her. I’m not like you or Prim or Thranduil or anyone else who likes revenge. I feel good in the moment, but right after…” Bilbo trails off as he sets his boxes down in Prim’s room, “Prim should be back soon. She was going to spend a few hours with Tauriel while I was out.”

Bard smirks, “That’s right, you had your date with Bofur today.”

Bilbo indignantly snaps, “It was not a date!” he takes a moment to think about it, “Well, I didn’t think it was? He kissed me when we got to the house, but it was on the cheek. I mean, friends can do that...right?”

Bard scoffs, “Mate, if you try to kiss my cheek, I’ll tell Thranduil and let him be the judge of whether friends do that sort of thing.”

Bilbo slumps against a nearby wall, “Why would he even ask me out?”

Bard rolls his eyes taking up a spot beside Bilbo, “Because you’re cute, you’re in good shape, your hair looks like silk, you’re nice, you’re smart, you stood up for him even though you didn’t know him.” 

Bilbo snaps his fingers, “That must be it! He must just think he likes me because I stood up for him.”

Bard runs a hand down his face, “Bilbo, I don’t know how to explain this to you, but you’re actually a very attractive person. I know this is hard to hear, but people don’t just hate you on sight.”

Bilbo sinks to the floor not having heard anything Bard just said, “I’ve just got to find some way to explain to him that what he feels isn’t real, and then he can move on to someone else.” He doesn’t say ‘someone better’ but Bard knows that’s what is going through his head.

Bard gives up on the subject when he hears a car door close. Bilbo’s up in a flash getting the door before Prim can even put her key in the door, “Hey, Prim! How was it with Tauriel?”

Prim gives shrugs off her coat, “Same as always,” she nods to Bard, “I see you two kissed and made up. _Finally._ ”

Bard smiles wickedly, “I’m not the one he’s been kissing.”

Prim’s eyes go wide, “No way!” She flails her hands about in excitement, “No freaking way! You kissed him? On the first date?” She puts a hand on her hip while examining the nails of the other hand, “Bilbo Baggins, when did you become such a _slut?_ ” She asks it playfully.

Bilbo blushes, not really catching the playfulness of Prim’s question, “I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me! On the cheek.” Belatedly he adds, “And it wasn’t a date!”

Prim rolls her eyes laughing, “It so was.”

Bard nods in consensus, “It really was. I bet you even shared that shake you dumped on Lobelia.”

Prim squeals in delight, “You dumped a shake on She Who Does Not Deserve a Name?!” She grabs his face kissing his forehead over and over again, she doesn’t care that he goes tense and rubs his face afterward, “You’re the best brother ever! Jesus Fucking Christ, Bilbo!” She turns to Bard ecstatically, “Did you get pictures? Did you see the whole thing, or just the aftermath?” Her expression turns cold as she looks back at Bilbo, “What the fuck did She Who Shall Not Be Named do?! If she did anything to hurt you, I  
will kill her.”

Bard flicks her forehead, “He did it for you, idiot. Check your room.”

Prim looks suspiciously at the two of them before slowly heading up to her room, “What’d you do?” She goes into her bedroom and shrieks when she sees all of the things she sold to Lobelia, “Cheese and mother fucking rice! YOU GOT MY SHIT BACK!” She slides down the banister stumbling when she falls off of it, right into Bilbo and Bard, “You, oh my god, Bilbo, you are just…” she screams again, bouncing up and down, “UGH! That’s it. I’ve got no choice but to give you my first born child. This is so completely awesome sauce!” She shrieks before running to the kitchen, “We need to celebrate!” She comes back dialing into the house phone, “I don’t give a shit if you just ate, you probably ate like a bird. You guys want the usual?”

Bard and Bilbo exchange a smile, Prim’s already ordering their pizzas. “Yes, I need two large pizzas with stuffed crust, extra cheese, one third meat lover, one third Hawaiian, and one third macaroni on one pizza. The other pizza needs to have extra cheese, stuffed crust, one third covered in m&ms, and the other two thirds plain. The address should be on file. I fully expect my pizza here in thirty minutes or less.” 

She walks the phone back to its cradle, “Oh, I completely forgot,” she pulls out her phone, turns up the volume, and pulls up the song that she had caught Bard jamming out to. He’s typically more of your melancholy love song kind of guy with songs like _Delilah_ by Tom Jones, _Trouble_ by Ray LaMontagne, etc. filling up his phone, but she had found this little gem in his browser history. She’s a girl, it’s her birthright to snoop. _Drinking Class_ by Lee Brice starts blaring through her phone’s speaker.

Bard groans throwing his head back while Bilbo gets excited at the song choice, “I love this song!” Prim and Bilbo start singing along, eventually Bard does as well. Prim’s beginning to learn the words by the time the pizza shows up. She pauses it the second the bell rings, “I got it!” She bellows loudly despite the only other two people in the house being right in front of her. 

She bounds up to the door, checks the time, and pouts when she sees it’s only been 28 minutes. “So close,” she says to herself as she opens the door. She pulls out a note for fifty handing it to the pizza guy in exchange for her pizzas without saying anything but, “Keep the change.”

She kicks the door closed behind her as she turns to the boys. “I’ll get the plates.”

Bilbo nods already heading for the pantry while Bard goes to the living room to get Netflix or some site to watch shows on going on the laptop they’ve got hooked to the television. Bilbo meets Prim in the kitchen as she divvies up the pie, “Marshmallows and Reese’s.” He places them strategically on his own slices before Prim takes the bags blindly sprinkling the toppings on her and Bard’s pizzas. They come out to the find Bard already has a show playing but paused, “What’re we watching this week?” Prim asks around her first bite of pizza.

Bard accepts his plate gratefully, “This weird show I saw a trailer for on YouTube.”

Bilbo scoffs, “Well that sounds promising.”

Bard laughs, “Just sit and shut your gab.”

Prim sprawls out on the couch effectively forcing the boys to relocate before they can start the show. Bilbo moves the coffee table out of the way so he can lie on the floor with Smaug occasionally feeding him some of his meat or vegetarian pizza, and Bard takes up position in the armchair with his legs hanging over the side, “Okay, press play.”

The next 13 hours are dedicated to watching episode after episode of _Orphan Black_ with running commentary. Cosima is Bard’s favorite, he doesn’t seem very fond of Tony, but he has a deep hatred for Rachel. Prim’s favorite is actually a tie between Felix and Kira, she hates Mrs. S for reasons that neither Bard nor Bilbo will ever be able to figure out, and she likes Sarah, despite her utter lack of good judgment. Bilbo’s favorite, from the moment they saw her back for the first time, has been Helena. He doesn’t really hate any of the characters, but the person he likes the least is always whoever is being mean to Helena, typically Sarah, but others too. 

“I can’t believe that ending!” Prim shouts at around four in the morning, “How can they end it like that?!” she turns to Bard, “Tell me there’s another series!”

Bard shrugs, Bilbo’s already googling, “Yep. It starts April 18.”

Prim gasps, “Oh! You’ve got to be kidding!”

Bilbo shakes his head, “Nope, it says so right here.” He shows his phone to Prim, “See?”

She sighs dramatically, “The wait is going to kill me. I’m gonna die a few days before April, 18, because that’s just my life.”

The boys laugh at Prim before Bilbo starts clearing away all the dishes leaving Prim to shutdown the computer and Bard moves the furniture back into place. It’s been like this for almost as long as they’ve known each other. Bard never thinks about his responsibilities when he’s over, Prim doesn’t think about her grades, and Bilbo is distracted from his self-loathing. They march up to their rooms as their exhaustion settles in. Bard is the first to start the _Waltons-esque_ good night ritual. “G’night, Squire. ”

Prim smiles, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite, Bowman. Sweet dreams, Ser Pounce.”

Bilbo huffs at the nickname, “Same, Squire. Good night, Bowman.”

Bard waves to the both of them, “G’night, Ser Pounce.”


	16. All He Really Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin broods and gets possessive of his time with Bilbo, Galadriel meddles, and Bilbo does homework in another after school session. There is more POV jumping than normal, but it's obvious and doesn't hinder the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO! Lady_Eowyn, aka Other J, aka OJ from now on, would be proud of me...

Bilbo enters the studio with his homework in hand. If he’s just going to be sitting there the entire time, he might as well be doing something. This is only the third time he’s “worked” with Thorin and Galadriel, but this is already wearing thin on his patience. He thought this would be more about helping Thorin while Galadriel worked rather than just keeping the pair entertained while they worked. 

He takes his normal seat on the stool, then pulls the nearest table over to him. He sets his books down and decides to tackle AP Chem first. Gandalf has still been looking at him strangely, but less and less as the days go by. He can’t think of anything he would have done to upset the man, aside from helping Thorin the first day, but he was mostly helping the class at that point. 

Bilbo cruises through the five problems and moves on to his AP Bio homework, which is just more reading. He’s only ten pages in when Galadriel emerges from the back and Thorin arrives. Galadriel greets them both, Thorin returns the warm welcome readily and says hello to Bilbo, but Bilbo simply keeps reading after giving a nod of acknowledgement. Thorin sets to work with a confused look on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Galadriel, on the other hand, is more open with bewilderment, “What are you doing?”

Bilbo turns the page choosing to answer without looking up, “My only condition was that I be able to work on my homework while Thorin does his work. It’s not like you’re actually having me do anything anyway.”

Galadriel thins her lips, but she can’t argue with either statement, as Bilbo knew she wouldn’t, so she simply moves to the easel asking, “What class are you doing reading for?”

Bilbo neatly jots down some notes in the book in pen after highlighting something, “Advanced Placement Biology.” 

Galadriel offers an inviting smile that he can’t see, “That’s very impressive. Don’t you also have AP Chemistry?”

Bilbo’s flippantly adds, “I’m also in AP Stats 202 as well as Philosophy 4.”

Galadriel is smiling proudly, “That’s incredible! Thorin,” she turns to the raven haired boy, “Isn’t that incredible?”

Bilbo pauses in his reading as he feels his cheeks warm. He didn’t mean to make it sound impressive, he was just trying to be conversational. _This is why I don’t like talking to people._ “It’s really not that impressive.”

Thorin snorts, “If I was taking those classes, my parents would spread word all over the world.”

Bilbo looks up, immediately regretting the choice when he sees Thorin and Galadriel staring at him, “Seriously, it’s not that big a deal. He hunches his shoulders forward as he returns to reading making his button down drape over him in a dwarfing way as though seeming smaller will make him invisible. 

Galadriel decides to move on from praise deciding to focus instead on Thorin, “What classes are you taking?”

Thorin shrugs, “AP Chem, trig, weight lifting, English 112, art, and then court sports.”

Bilbo frowns thoughtfully as he continues to read, the others just assume it’s got to do with the text, but he’s rather disappointed at the schedule Thorin rattled off. In June, Thorin had begun studying fiercely so he might take composition tests to take more advanced classes. He lets it go, for now, but he’s got to talk to him about it soon because their schedules are final as of Friday this week. 

Bilbo finishes his chapter, so he moves on to dive into his twenty problems in AP Statistics 202 dealing with SRS, simple random sampling. He works diligently at trying to block out what’s going on around him so he can focus, but he can’t help noticing that there seems to be more trouble this time than the previous two times he stayed after. After half an hour, he’s finished the last of his homework. _Well, she did ask me to stay after so I could help, and with my homework finished, there’s nothing better to do._ He closes his book and moves in their direction, _I suppose there’s no harm in doing what I set out to do in the first place._

“Is there anything I can help with?” He holds his hands behind his back dutifully, ready to aid in any way he can. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before this happened. After all, Thorin must have been in serious need of assistance if Galadriel modified her plans for Bilbo being her “aid” so they might tutor him. 

Thorin’s head snapped up, frustration written into his regal features, “No. There is not.” His voice is stern and words clipped, a far cry from what Bilbo is used to receiving. 

Bilbo raises his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but quickly hides it, “All right then,” he returns to his stool and reopens the closed biology book, “just...let me know if you do.” He resumes reading, “I suppose,” he adds under his breath.

*T*

Thorin frowns at the way he snapped, but he shakes his head free of the guilty thoughts in order to return to the task at hand with his full attention. He catches Galadriel starting to raise her finger and he grabs the eraser running it along a small line near the top of the paper. He’d thought it might be wrong, but he couldn’t decide. Galadriel’s hand lowers to its original position. 

He smiles proudly at the drawing before him, _I’ll be able to start with the paints on Wednesday, perhaps even tonight if I finish with the line work soon enough._ He works tirelessly to make sure that every line is in its proper place, every detail just right. 

The sun has just begun to set when Thorin hears a phone go off. Both he and Galadriel check theirs, though he’s far more irritable as he unlocks his phone. He’d gone to great lengths to ensure that every member of the Company and his family all knew that he would be unavailable during these lessons. _It’s probably dad. He’s the only one who had seemed genuinely put out by the rule, even though he never texts._

As it happens, however, it is not Thorin’s father; it’s not even Thorin’s phone. He looks to Galadriel, but she shakes her head before looking to Bilbo, “Was that _your_ phone just now?”

Bilbo looks up from what looks to be a very small tablet, “Hm? Oh, yes, sorry. I don’t normally have my volume on, it’s just...a friend of mine, he said he would text, and I didn’t want to miss it. I’ll turn off the volume.” He does as he promised immediately, then sets to replying.

Thorin narrows his eyes at the phone as though it has offended him greatly. Galadriel readily joins him in his glowering at the small tablet, but she stops when she notices Thorin’s gone back to drawing. His jaw is set, brows furrowed, and she can see the hint of a pout on his lower lip. 

*B*

Bilbo finishes his text back to Bofur. He cleared up the business of Saturday with Bofur already, in fact, that had been the first thing he told him today. Not the best conversation starter, but Bilbo doesn’t have much tact when it comes to warning people away from the trainwreck that is his life. Bofur had taken it surprisingly well, mostly because as Bilbo rambled and word vomited, it became very clear that it hadn’t been anything about the date, Bilbo just wasn’t interested. 

Since he still wanted to be friends with Bofur, and Bofur would rather be friends than nothing, they’re supposed to meet at the local youth center for boxing. Bilbo’s never been boxing before, but he’s always been interested. The phone vibrates in his hands. **”How good are you at pre calc?”**

Bilbo texts back hastily, **”I finished with a 95% in the class sophomore year. Do you need help?”** He looks up at Thorin, who is for some reason brooding, and then back to the phone. _It’s not as though I’m actually accomplishing anything here, and Thorin said it himself, I’m not needed at the moment._ He adds, **”Can meet you at the public library. They’re open until 10 on weeknights. I’ll need a ride home though, I’m at the school.”**

He checks his phone, when he sees that it’s 7:30, he feels a flood of relief. He won’t even have leave early given how far Bofur lives from Ered Luin. He waits until he gets Bofur’s reply, **“Sounds good. Be there soon. Thnx!”**

*T*

Bilbo puts his phone face down on the table before returning his focus to reading. He completely misses when Thorin spies the phone face down and Bilbo’s adorably nose planted in the cumbersome book. If that’s where it happens to look best, in Thorin’s opinion, then so be it. Thorin grins like a fool for a few seconds before he refocuses on his drawing and how to get Bilbo back. _I should see if he wants to go to the botanical gardens on Saturday._ He looks from his picture to Bilbo with a wry smile, _Maybe when we’re back together, and I’m good enough at drawing by then, he’ll let me draw him the way Rose let Jack. I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t watch the film._

It’s a couple minutes before eight when Bilbo gets a text. Bilbo responds and begins packing up. Thorin sees Bilbo getting ready to leave, so he makes his move, “Bilbo,” Bilbo looks up as Thorin gets his own pack and Galadriel vanishes to the back room, “I was wondering if you a had a second.”

Bilbo doesn’t hesitate to nod, “Yeah, but can we walk and talk? My ride is here.”

The guilt in the last words aren’t lost on Thorin, “And you don’t want to make them wait any more than they have to.” Bilbo nods with an apologetic smile as they start down the hallway, “I wanted to know what your plans for this Saturday are. Before the movie night, I mean. I thought a stroll through the gardens might be a good way to catch up.” He has his most charming smile on when he adds, “You did say we could be friends.”

Bilbo chews on his lip thoughtfully, stopping when his brain reminds him that he had filed lip chewing under Adorable. Thorin didn’t miss it though, and he’s got the dopey grin. Bilbo bites his tongue instead of his lip. “I’m actually busy Saturday,” he hastily adds, “but I’m free next Saturday, or we could go after your lesson on Friday.”

Thorin grins stupidly at the suggestion of Friday night. “Friday night it is then,” he holds the door to the building open for Bilbo.

Bilbo gives a small smile on the right as he says, “It’s a date.” Thorin heads off to student parking, the sound of a car idling and then being entered is behind him. He didn’t bother looking to see who was waiting for Bilbo, it was either his parents or Bard.  
Thorin had learned to recognize those ones as his real smiles. Any smile that wasn’t small and on the right wasn’t real. The small ones on the left were almost real, but not quite. The self-deprecating grin meant that Bilbo was ecstatic, or as close to it as he gets. Thorin only saw a large smile that reached his eyes, one that went far enough back that made the small scar at the corner of his eye disappear, one time, and that had been when he picked him up the day they went to Proms. 

Thorin hopes to see that smile again, but it’ll take time, effort, and trust, none of which are easy. So, for now, he settles for the corner smile. Thorin gets into his luxury car, _At the very least, he’ll probably be giving me his grin when I draw him like Jack’s French girls._ He’d do anything to get that smile, though. That’s the end game. Bilbo happy, and not in a way that is tinged with guilt or worries, but truly happy. That’s all he really wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I had planned for this to end in an angst filled fight. Instead, you got a fluffy peak into the mind of Thorin, the secret romantic, Oakenshield Durin


	17. An Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awesome Prim may be, but Black Widow she is not. Seriously, who does something super secretive and shady in a glass building? After that debacle, Bilbo and Thorin hang out at the gardens. Lemme just say, they have terrible conversation skills when they care about people. I'm sorry for the ending. Kinda.

_My Sweet Little Prince,  
I cannot begin to apologize for the pain my passing will have caused you and your father. I’ve spent the last six weeks wrestling with myself just trying to figure out how I was going to tell you both that I’m dying, let alone what to tell you about me, your dad, your father, or even yourself. I suppose I should start at the beginning? You know, I’ve never actually told anyone this, no one but your dad at least._

_I guess it all started the summer I met your father. He was just my type: mysterious, charming, and...well connected, I guess. You know what, no. If I’m going to tell you this, I’m going to tell you the truth, and nothing but. Your father wasn’t well connected, he was a drug dealer with suppliers all over New Zealand. Or at least he would be._

_When I met him, he was just-_ Prim startles when she hears the door to the greenhouse open over the pouring rain. Prim folds up the letter tucking it back into the box where she found it beneath everything else. She puts the box back in its place and turns around just in time to see Smaug, “Hey, big fella,” she greets him with a rub on his chest. She calls to Bilbo, “Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready to head to the gardens?”

She grabs the gardening tools off the table on her way out into the main part of the house, only to find it empty. She swallows thickly as she backs into the room locking the door. She goes over to Smaug as she pulls out her phone after placing everything but the spade on the table. She presses her phone to her ear as Bilbo’s phone rings behind her. 

She jumps turning with the spade raised as she lets out a scream. She sees Bilbo with his hair wet and dripping down onto his face, “Holy fucking cheese and rice! You asshole! I almost stabbed you!”

Bilbo just stares at her blankly. She looks down and sees his box. He follows her gaze, then looks her in the eyes, “How many times?” His voice is so quiet she can barely hear it.

Prim shrugs, as though she can play off his suspicions, “What are you talking about?”

Bilbo sets his jaw, “How many times have you read it?” At this rate he doesn’t even care about the box. He’s known she’s looked in it at least once a month since he moved in with them. “How many times did you read my mother’s note?”

Prim shakes her head, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s only buying herself seconds to fabricate a lie, but they’re precious seconds. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bilbo’s face is the same unreadable mask, but she can just make out the pain in his eyes. “The note, it’s moved. I know exactly where the note is, and the first button you gave me was on beneath it with the others lying to the right of it. The picture’s on the other side of the box.”

_How the fuck does he move so fast? Is it really on the other side? I could have sworn-_ “What? Lemme see. I thought I put everything back where I found it. I wanted to look at the button, so I moved the note.”

Bilbo bites his lower lip, then opens up the box. Prim watches as he studies the box trying to figure out just how badly he wants to believe her. She adds, “You startled me when you opened the door. I could have moved something when I was putting the box away.”

She sees when he makes a decision. She just doesn’t know what he’s chosen to believe. He looks up with a small smile, _Small smiles are good. Small smiles are real._ “I suppose that’s what must have happened,” he puts the box back on its shelf. When he turns around, the left corner of his mouth is still tilted up, “I mean, it’d be okay if you read it, you know.” He picks up the tools from the table as he heads out to the main area, “As long as you told me.”

She nods, “Okay, but I won’t. It’s yours, it’s from your mom to you. Whenever you’re ready to read it, you will, and I won’t even think of opening it until then.” She hopes she’s picked up enough on lying from Bilbo that she’s being convincing. 

He reaches out his hand, his smile still in place, “Pinky swear?”

She scoffs hooking her pinky through his, “Course.”

He flashes the smile wider as their fingers unhook. “I just wanted to come and see the place before I started getting ready,” he looks down at his wet clothes, “I should probably run back to the house and change before Thorin gets there, hm?”

She laughs as he heads for the door, “You’re good with Smaug, right? I don’t wanna leave you out here alone, I know sometimes this place can be a little creepy. What with the frosted glass and everything.” He gets to the door, “Never know who might be watching.”

He’s gone before she can do anything. _Oh, my god._ She turns around in time to see a dark figure she knows is Bilbo run by on the path behind the greenhouse. As he runs by, he gives the smallest of waves.

*B*

Bilbo sprints home through the rain without his music playing or the clicking of Smaug’s claws to fill the deafening silence of the downpour. The only sensations he’s aware of as he runs through the town like a streak of invisible lightning are the pounding of his feet against the road and the rain pelting down against his back. He slips as he jumps up onto his lawn, his foot sliding further than he intended, but he recovers without actually falling. 

He slows to a walk just before the door, then calmly enters the house. It won’t do any good to get Prim in trouble, so he silently makes his way up to his room, trades his red button down for his red hoodie, then heads to the bathroom to towel off his head. He walks back down the stairs grabbing a small red umbrella on his way out, he stops in his tracks when there’s a series of loud knocks on the door. _Who could that possibly be?_

Bilbo pockets the umbrella easily, _Yet another reason I enjoyed my hoodies._ The door opens to reveal Thorin standing beneath a traditional black umbrella completely dry. He smiles wryly at Bilbo, “I don’t suppose you were thinking of calling me for a ride when you picked that up,” he nods to the umbrella in Bilbo’s pocket.

Bilbo shakes his head guiltily, “No, I didn’t-” Thorin finishes for him, “Want to trouble me. I know. That’s why I came when I figured you’d be leaving. Now come on,” he offers his hand to Bilbo, “it’s no trouble at all.”

Bilbo takes his hand for a moment, just long enough to step under his umbrella and lock up, then he releases it. Bilbo puts his hands in his pockets for the walk to Thorin’s car. 

*T*

Thorin instantly sees that something isn’t right with Bilbo’s behavior, because there’s politely Silent Bilbo, guilty Silent Bilbo, awkward Silent Bilbo, comfortable Silent Bilbo, and then there’s upset Silent Bilbo. He turns to get a good look at Bilbo’s eyes, “Bilbo, what’s wrong?”

He catches the slightest widening of the eyes, then he starts sliding his lower lip back but stops himself before he can start chewing. Bilbo gives a single shoulder shrug, “Nothing.”

Thorin narrows his eyes as he forces himself to pay more attention to the wet road than to Bilbo, “Friends don’t lie, Bilbo.”

Bilbo laughs shortly, “Everyone lies, and you know it.”

Thorin grits his teeth as anger fills him, _Bard, I swear, if you’ve anything to do with this…_ “Bilbo, I understand fully why you still don’t trust me, but you need to talk to someone if something is wrong, and I’m going to guess that you can’t go to your usual sounding boards for this.”

Thorin reminds himself peevishly that this road isn’t the best to take when it’s rainy, so he makes sure to slow down a bit and keeps his eyes on the street. After a few long moments of tense silence, Bilbo resignedly tells him, “I don’t need a sounding board.”

Thorin sighs, “You’re right, you need a friend, which is what you said I could be, and sometimes friends act as sounding boards.”

He can’t see Bilbo’s expression, but he’s guessing it’s not a pleased one, “Fine. You tell me something that’s upset you recently.”

Thorin smirks, “All right. My friend won’t tell me what’s bothering him, and it’s driving me mad with worry.”

Bilbo huffs, “See, it’s not so much fun when you’re the one being pestered.”

Thorin spares a glance at Bilbo, he’s got his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place as he glares out his window. _This is not how I thought this would be,_ “On Wednesday, when you told me to take the compositions, you asked me why I didn’t take them in the first place.” He takes a deep breath as he pulls up to the entrance of the gardens, “I didn’t take them because I didn’t think I could split my time between getting ready for rugby, attending all of my family’s stupid parties, and AP homework.”

He sees Bilbo blink at him blankly while he pulls into a parking space. Thorin turns off the engine, Bilbo’s still not done anything but blink a couple more times. Finally, Bilbo unbuckles turning to face Thorin fully, “You scheduled the tests, though, right? They’re letting you take them so you can switch before you’re too far into your classes.”

Thorin shrugs, “I’m not sure that I’m going to take them though.”

Bilbo sighs heavily, he’s running a hand through his hair in frustration. He sighs once more, though now there’s a steely quality to his eyes, and his voice is commanding, “You… Wh- how- UGH! Do you,” he leans forward, “have any idea how utterly maddening you are? Of course you can balance your schedule. You’re one of the single most driven people I know, Thorin, and if you think you’re going to just blow off these composition tests, you can think again. If you’ve applied to any colleges or universities, you’re going to send your amended schedule to them on Monday. You are taking these tests, you will get into the Advanced Placement classes, and you will succeed.”

Thorin gapes at Bilbo’s small outburst, but before he can figure out what to say, Bilbo gets his umbrella from his pocket and exits the car. Thorin rushes after him, his own umbrella forgotten, “Bilbo!” He jogs to catch up to Bilbo as he’s already almost into the entryway of the large glass complex, “Bilbo, wait.” 

Bilbo turns to him once he’s inside closing his umbrella, “What’d you go and do that for? Now you’re all wet.”

Thorin laughs at Bilbo’s sense of priority before remembering why he had in fact run out into the rain after him, “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

Bilbo furrows his eyebrows, “That you’re wet?”

Thorin rolls his eyes, “That I will succeed.”

Bilbo frowns in sadness, though it’s soon replaced by determined anger, “Well, they should have,” he turns away from Thorin and starts walking swiftly toward his favorite part of the garden, “because there has never been a moment’s doubt in my mind that you will be able to do anything you set your mind too!” He spins angrily poking Thorin in the chest, “Your family and Company and whoever else has ever neglected to tell you that are nothing but worthless shits with their heads too far up their own asses to see it.”

Thorin tries not to laugh at Bilbo swearing because it’s such an odd thing to see and hear, “There’s never been _any_ doubt?” Thorin can’t hide the lilt in his voice.

Bilbo deflates presumably wishing he could swallow the words he seems to have vomited, “Well, I, um, not, uh, not really.”

Thorin arches a brow as he crosses his arms, the pair are still walking towards the center of the gardens, “Not even when you dumped me?”

Bilbo ducks his head in shame, “Not even then. And...I’m sorry, about the way I did it...I was out of line.”

Thorin grabs Bilbo’s arm gently, “There’s no need to apologize,” he releases Bilbo’s arm knowing that the contact was probably over the line, “I stole from you one of your most prized possessions and essentially gave it away to some scumbag. You had every right to do what you did. You had every right to do worse.” He doesn’t mean for his tone to grow harsh as he speaks, but it does.

Bilbo looks pained as he tells Thorin, “I wasn’t blameless.”

Thorin wants so badly to kiss Bilbo right now, to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but that’s not where they’re at, so he settles for, “You still haven’t told me what you were upset about.”

And just like that, Bilbo’s evasion is foiled. He starts walking again, "Prim broke a promise.”

Thorin falls into step beside Bilbo, “What’d she lie about?”

Bilbo is clearly torn between sharing the information or keeping it to himself, “She was reading something she shouldn’t have been, and then she lied. It’s not a big deal.”

Thorin scoffs, “It’s a big enough deal to have upset you, visibly, so I’m going to say it’s a pretty big deal.”

Bilbo walks into the entrance of the maze, “Would you mind if we talked about something else?” He asks it in a very loaded way making sure that Thorin knows he doesn't have much of an option

Thorin nods, “You have something in mind?”

Bilbo shakes his head, “How have you been?”

Thorin shrugs not wanting to say he was miserable, “All right, I suppose. You?”

Bilbo opens the door to the central area, “I’ve been worse.” Thorin doesn’t doubt that. “This is my favorite part of the gardens, you know.”

Thorin nods thoughtfully noting, “You like the maze,” Bilbo smiles at him as they head into it, “Kind of fitting.”

*B*

Bilbo turns to Thorin perplexed by the statement, “What do you mean?”

Thorin shrugs, indecision written on his face, “Just that it makes a kind of sense that you would like puzzles.”

Bilbo doesn’t let it show that he’s put out by the comment, “I suppose.” _What does that mean? Does that mean that I’m confusing, that I’m a challenge, or that I’m something for him to solve?_ “What about you, what’s your favorite part of the gardens?”

He doesn’t look at the maze as he leads Thorin through it. He doesn’t need to with how often he used to come here. “My favorite part...it’d have to be the building itself. The glass walls, the simplicity of its elegant cast iron structure... it reminds me of the crystal palace in Spain.”

Bilbo sees after a moment that this one of those grey times, though he’s not sure if he should ask for clarification. He sees the wistful way that Thorin glances up at the ceiling and asks without thinking, “Would you tell me about it?”

Thorin can’t hide his surprise at Bilbo’s question, he tries not to be hurt by it. This is the first time he’s admitted to their difference in wealth rather than simply implied it. He blinks away the shock with a warm smile, “It’s magnificent. The building is well kept, the glass is spotless, and the floor is made from a reflective stone. The palace is tucked away in a forest of sorts in Madrid, it’s surrounded by trees and sits stately on the edge of a lake.” 

Bilbo smiles at how bright Thorin’s eyes have become as he describes the crystal palace, “The light at midday shines through the glass turning the walls into a series of scattered rainbows.” He trails off looking at the hedge they’re making their way through.

Bilbo doesn’t ask what’s captured his train of thought, he merely lets his friend enjoy the memory. The next time either of them speaks is when they reach a dead end at the face of a cliff towering over the gardens. Thorin looks around, “We must have made a wrong turn.”

Bilbo doesn’t call him out for stating the obvious, “No. We’re right where I wanted us to be.” Thorin gives him a puzzled look that only makes Bilbo turn his small smile into a grin, “Follow me.”

Bilbo reaches into the vines hanging over what one would assume to be a glass wall pulling the vines apart to either side. Bilbo relishes in the look on Thorin’s face when a small door is revealed. Thorin whispers, “What’s behind it?”

Bilbo throws open the door to reveal darkness. He tugs at the sleeve of Thorin’s leather jacket, naturally avoiding physical contact, “An adventure.”


	18. Now Sit Down, Shut Up, and Listen Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like Ori when one of her babies has been scorned, even if it was by the other baby.

Thorin had been thoroughly impressed by what Bilbo showed him in the gardens, and that had made Bilbo’s mood go into an upswing for the next day, which was good because he hadn’t wanted to have to get Bofur worried about him too. Their day of boxing had been...an experience, one might call it. One might also call it an unpleasant experience. It turns out that Bilbo is actually a lot faster than Bofur had thought he was, so Bofur is now sporting a black eye.

After hitting bofur with apology after apology for a few hours as they continued to box, Bofur dropped Bilbo off at his house for his movie night. The night had gone as it usually does, but Bard saw that something was up between Bilbo and Prim. Thankfully, though, he had enough experience with sibling squabbles to know to leave it to the pair of them. 

Ori and Dwalin both noticed the tension too when they got home Sunday afternoon, but when the kids told them everything was fine, they didn’t press. They gave them Sunday and Monday to work it over, and today at school, but now that it’s Tuesday night, they don’t see much of an option other than to sit them down and talk everything out. They are not going to let Bilbo’s eighteenth birthday be marred by a spat between the two.

Ori has a tray of custard squares in her hands, her husband is standing behind her with his hands held in front of him, when her babies walk through the door. _Oh, it seems like yesterday we were celebrating Bilbo’s first birthday with us. He’d been bounced around from foster home to foster home from December to September the year before, then it took a while for us to get him over here and in our care. He’d been with us nearly eight months when his twelfth birthday rolled around, and he’d still only spoken to Prim, Bard, and Smaug._

She takes in Prim first, her orange hair pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, she has on a tank top with Bon Jovi on it with a hoodie on over it, one sleeve up to her elbow and the other down. Her chino trousers have several buttons on either leg, her high tops disappear under the length of the trousers. Her blocky glasses sit low on her nose, which she notices and adjusts using her knuckle rather than the point of her finger. She claims to not be able to remember her mother, but Ori knows better. Her daughter used to do the same thing Prim just did. 

Right after her is Bilbo, and he takes her breath away every time she sees him. His tan skin and honey blonde hair are just like his mother’s, but his eyes...they’re the same piercing blue as his father’s. That man had been able to charm anyone: man, woman, or child. If you had something he wanted, he’d have it soon enough and all he’d have to do is ask you for it. Ori examines his clothes. His blue button down hangs in just the right way that he seems bigger than he is while also managing to seem small. He seems small because of how the shirt wears on him, but he seems bigger because the clothes work to dwarf his body. His jeans, the nice new black ones Prim got him that were the perfect size the day of purchase are now loose on his body. _I’ll have to make sure he takes a few of the custard squares. My baby boy’s not going to waste away to nothing on my watch._

Prim and Bilbo both see Ori and her famous custard squares at the same time, and Ori’s smile widens when she sees the terror flash in their eyes. “Do you kids think you can spare a moment to tell a couple of old coots about your day?”

She sits down with Dwalin following right behind her, she places the tray on the coffee table motioning for her children to take a seat across from her. They comply, as she knows they will, and then she nods at Prim, “Prim, do you want to start?”

About halfway through Prim describing her day, Ori notices that Bilbo’s looked just past her and is staring with a light in his eye she recognizes as him day dreaming. She slides the tray of custard squares forward absently while still being engaged in Prim’s story. She sees his attention flit to the tray, then look to her and then to Prim. _Honestly, to blatantly glaze over as his sister is talking about her time in Pre-Calc. The gall._

She makes sure that Bilbo keeps his attention on Prim for the duration of her tale. Ori makes a mental note to speak with Tauriel about Prim’s work ethic in Trigonometry. She turns to Bilbo as Prim eats her fourth custard square, “How about you, Chomper, how was your day?”

Bilbo shrugs noncommittally earning a narrowed look from Ori that makes him sit up straight when he answers, “It was a day.”

Ori doesn’t sigh, because a proper lady doesn’t sigh, but she gets damn close to it. Her children and husband all tense in their seats as she cuts the crap, “What in the name of all that is good are the two of you arguing about?” Bilbo crosses his arms while Prim looks down at her interlocked fingers, “I see. What did your sister do?”

Bilbo immediately lowers his arms becoming more open, his voice softens, “Nothing.”

Prim looks to him uncertainly as Ori purses her lips, “Bilbo, you know I don’t like it when you lie.”

*B*

Bilbo leans forward gently, “I’m not upset with her. She thinks I am, but I’m not.” _It’s my own fault for being so trusting. I should have kept the box in my room under the floorboards like I’d originally planned. It wouldn’t have been any different from when I hid the note in the fifteen foster homes I was in before coming here._

He almost feels bad as Ori turns to Prim, almost, “And why would you think that your brother is upset with you?”

Prim keeps her gaze trained on the custard squares, “I don’t know.”

Ori tuts turning to Dwalin for support. Dwalin clears his throat, “Yes, right. Um, Prim.” Prim looks up, he looks to Ori who nods with an exhausted expression, “You can tell us anything. You know that.”

Prim sighs leaning back into the couch, “He found me reading his mom’s suicide note, and I lied about it.”

Bilbo adds in a neutral tone, “You also broke a pinky promise.”

Prim sighs crossing her arms defensively, “I know it was wrong, okay!” She clearly doesn’t want her parents reprimanding her for this. Bilbo knows there’s nothing they can say to her that she hadn’t already said to herself. “I don’t even know why I lied about it.”

_And broke a promise._ Bilbo doesn’t say that though. There’s no point in harping on it to anyone. They wouldn’t understand. They never have. 

Bilbo stands up from the couch, “Seriously though, there’s not a problem. I wouldn’t have confessed either if I was the one who had been caught in that situation. When you’re caught doing something, it releases adrenaline and you don’t think straight. I don’t have a problem with anything she did. I even told her to read it if she wanted to.”

*O*

To say that Ori is not pleased would be the understatement of the century. _What in the world would have made Prim think it was a good idea to read that?! It wasn’t hers to read, and she had absolutely no right invading Bilbo’s privacy that way!_ She’s about to say as much when Dwalin unhelpfully states, “As long as you’re sure you’re not upset.”

_Are you kidding me right now, Dwalin Burke?_ She gives him the stink eye, _Of course he has a problem with it. Anyone would have a problem with it. The boy hasn’t even gotten around to reading it yet and then his own sister betrays his trust by not only sneaking around and lying, but by breaking a pinky swear._

She huffs when Bilbo reaffirms, “There’s not a problem. No hard feelings. She was curious, so she looked for answers. I can’t blame her for that.”

“You most certainly can!” Ori nearly shouts. She stands up putting a hand on her hip as she points to Bilbo, “Now sit down, shut up, and listen well because I am only going to say this once,” Bilbo drops back into his seat, “What your sister did was wrong. She had no right going through your things, let alone reading a message meant for you and you alone that you’ve not read yourself. Then on top of it, she lied to your face, then broke a pinky swear. You hold those things in higher regard than a contract signed to the devil.”

Bilbo’s looking down in shame the entire time, and it makes Ori so angry, “Look at me, Bilbo.” He looks at her, but not at her eyes. She sits down and makes herself level with him, “Really look at me,” she says much softer. Bilbo looks her in the face, which she knows is probably as good as she’s gonna get, “Good.”

She leans forward keeping his eyes her main focus, “Now you listen here. You may not care, but I do. I always will. And so will Dwalin and Prim. We’re your family, Bilbo, and even if we’re the ones who’ve wronged you, we will want nothing more than for you to be happy.” She slides a hand across the coffee table, “We love you, Bilbo, and your sister is going to be grounded for a month starting the second your birthday’s over.”

Bilbo takes her hand allowing her to squeeze his hand lightly before they both pull away. “Now,” she smiles at her kids, “who’s up for a game of cricket?”


	19. A Fond Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notice of Discontinuation.

I regret to inform all of you that I will no longer be continuing this story, as you may have guessed by my inactivity. I am so deeply sorry that I merely stopped updating without any notice, but my life went to Hell seven ways to Sunday very fast and for a long time. I always meant to give you this notice, but I could never think of the right words. My sincerest apologies to all of you.


End file.
